


To Forge In Steel

by QueenOfTheEyesores



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi, Prince Gendry AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-03-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-01-15 23:17:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 74,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1322938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenOfTheEyesores/pseuds/QueenOfTheEyesores
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Gendry AU. The Starks travel to King's Landing to join their House with the ruling Baratheons, but as a young Arya Stark manoeuvres her way around Southron life, and develops a close friendship with the future king, chaos erupts in the capital and destroys the way of life she knew and loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Gray Skies

Gray Skies (Prologue)

Ned Stark and Robert Baratheon stood overlooking the courtyard of Winterfell. The Welcome Feast was long over and it was late in the night but by some otherworldly miracle, King Robert was not yet too drunk. Staring over the railing with his old friend at his side, Ned watched his children play in the yard below: Arya and Rickon were watching from the fence as Robb and Jon pracitced swordplay. Nearby Bran strung his bow and arrow.

"If my son were here," Robert began with a boisterous laugh "He'd be down there beating your sons to a pulp."

"I believe he's off with Sansa." Ned said. He'd noticed the glances between Prince Joffrey and his daughter and, according to Arya, Sansa hadn't shut up about the boy since his arrival. Though truth be told, there was something about him that Ned didn't quite care for, but he held his tongue, for now.

"No, not Joff, my other boy, Gendry; he favours the war hammer, you know." Robert said. "The boy takes after his father." He smiled. "He'd taken ill right before we left. He was disappointed he couldn't make the trip." Ned nodded,

He'd heard much of Robert's boasting of his son Gendry. The boy was to be the future King of the Realm, and though he'd never seen the boy he'd heard he resembled Robert in every way. "It's a shame he'll never get to meet Jon." Ned mused sadly. "They would've gotten along well, I think."

"Oh right, which one's the bastard again?" Robert asked. Ned sighed and pointed to Jon as he helped Bran string his bow. The young boy smiled up at his half-brother and Jon tousled his hair as he helped Bran to line up his shot. Robb stood by letting Rickon test the weight of the wooden play swords that hung on the wall.

Bran loosed the arrow and missed his shot causing Arya to laugh loudly. Jon patted Bran on the shoulder and prepared him for another shot then turned his attention back to Robb. The two began their duel again.

Ned watched as they fought, proud of both of his boys at the same time. He knew Jon would do well at the Wall, just as Robb would flourish as the future Lord of Winterfell. But he felt a pang of guilt at the fact that so much like he and Robert had been separated in their youth, now these two boys might never see each other again.

"He's off to the Wall within the month, they're so short on men up there and Catelyn wishes him to move along. Arya will miss him terribly..." Ned said sadly, but he was interrupted by his friend.

"I didn't come here to talk about the Wall, Ned." Robert said. He hated when Ned badgered him about sending more men up North.

"Why did you come here?" Ned asked. He added a "Your Grace." quickly at the end. Robert coughed and belched and straightened his stance.

"Because, Ned, it's time to do what we couldn't years ago."

"Which is?" Ned asked. Robert smirked at his friend,

"I have a son. You have a daughter. We'll join our houses." Ned stared at him.

"You have two sons." Ned said, for lack of a better answer.

Robert was surprised at his friend's response. "Well, yes I do." He said.

"So which one do you suggest marries my daughter?" Ned asked.

Robert seemed to paused for a moment, as if he hadn't truly considered his own question. "Well, my son Gendry of course." The reassurance in his voice grew as he spoke. By the end he was nodding as if it was his most brilliant plan. "Your Sansa will make him a fine queen and you and I can retire together as tired old men."

Ned sighed as Robert clapped him on the back and laughed heartily.

Down in the yard Arya grabbed a wooden sword and closed in on her younger brother. Robb and Jon talked in the corner of the yard, unaware of their siblings activities. Meanwhile, the hollow sound of clashing play swords echoed through the yard until Bran's back was firm against the stable's walls. Ned's eyes narrowed in on his children as he watched Bran struggle to meet her attacks. Arya's feet moved too quickly for her brother to keep up. She almost had Bran beat when Ned put an end to it.

"Robb!" Ned called down into the yard, his son who was now laughing at the fight in front of him stopped when his father called down to him. "Don't you suppose it's time your sister went off to bed?" Robb nodded and shot a look to Jon, the two of them snuck up behind Arya and grabbed her under her arms and legs and hauled her, kicking and howling, off to her room.

"Who was that one?" Robert asked, his belly bouncing as he laughed.

Ned sighed, "That's my younger daughter, Arya. You met her earlier." He watched as she continued to fight Jon as he carried her over his shoulder to her room. "She takes after Lyanna." He added sadly. Robert smiled at the girl.

"You don't say." He chuckled. "Tell you what Ned, I'll double my offer. I've got two sons. You've got two daughters. What do ya say?"

Still, Ned hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't like the idea. He'd heard good things about Prince Gendry. And Sansa had already taken a liking to Joffrey, though Ned felt uneasy about the boy. And he supposed it would be difficult to turn down the offer of his friend, and his king.

"Who do you suggest marries whom?" He asked, still mulling over the idea in his head.

Robert scratched his beard, then after a moment, waved Ned away. "That's years down the road. We'll let my sons decide. For now let's celebrate!" Robert said as he clasped his arm around Ned's shoulder. "The Starks and the Baratheons, just as it was always meant to be."


	2. The Crooked Kind

Sansa thanked the gods her lady mother had requested a caravan for them to travel to King's Landing in. It made the whole trip more comfortable and their arrival that much more regal, like when the royal family had come to Winterfell. Though their caravan was much smaller than there's had been.

She glanced out the window at the giant red castle looming over the rest of the city. They were at the highest peak of the highest hill leading up to the city but still the Red Keep towered over them.

"Mother, where will be staying in the Red Keep?" Sansa asked, her eyes wide in awe as she tried to take in the scene of King's Landing. She turned away from the window and went to her mother's side. Catelyn grabbed a brush from the nearby table and began running it through her daughter's thick, Tully hair.

"I suppose we'll be in the Tower of the Hand with your father, while he works with King Robert." Catelyn answered tiredly. She was grateful for Sansa's enthusiasm at arriving in the city. Gods know the child would flourish among the fine society of King's Landing, she only wished she didn't have quite so many questions to which Catelyn had no answer.

She'd been happy to keep herself tucked up safely in Winterfell, away from the politics and aggressive social scene of the court. But their time in the capital could be avoided no longer. It had been inevitable the moment Robert Baratheon had uttered the fateful words to Ned five years ago: "I have a son. You have a daughter. We'll join our houses."

Catelyn could hardly contain a scoff when Ned recounted to her how he'd reminded his old friend that in fact the Starks had two daughters to the Baratheon king's two sons.

It was all well in fine for Sansa, she was a northern flower just waiting to bloom in the heat of such a vibrant southron city. It was Arya who's future kept Catelyn up at night. The girl was restless, and flighty, and aggressive, and wonderfully strong willed. A northerner through and through. So much like...

"Mother, will you braid my hair in the southron way?" Sansa begged her mother, for the fourth time that morning. Catelyn shook away her thoughts and continued brushing her daughter's hair.

"Sansa, you'll have the rest of your life to live like a southron lady, but until then, you're a Stark. And Starks are northerners. A simple braid will do." Catelyn said.

"But it's so plain." Sansa complained. After seeing Cersei Lannister's lavish hairstyles and gowns the girl had fallen in love with the luscious southron style. It upset Catelyn, how quickly the girl would seem to shun her northern heritage for the frills of the south, but she braided her daughter's hair without a word of critique, only encouragement.

"A plain braid for a natural beauty, Sansa. All the complicated plaits and twists of those southron hairstyles just distract from the flaws." She tied the braid off with a green ribbon and patted Sansa on the shoulder. "You'll shine all on your own."

"Queen Cersei doesn't have any flaws." Sansa mumbled as she returned to her perch by the window. "Besides," Her daughter continued as she daydreamed about her upcoming days within the Keep's fiery walls. "It's not my hair we need to worry about. Arya probably looks a complete mess right now."

Catelyn frowned. It was hard to ignore the truth in that statement. She peered out the door of the caravan and looked at the mounted men as they trod on towards the city. Up ahead she could see her lord husband riding up ahead with Vayon Poole. Jory and Rodrik Cassel were a few horses behind them.

"Ned!" Catelyn shouted, attempting to be quiet as the caravan bumped along the King's Road. "Ned!"

A few heads turned at her shouts and her eyes met with Jory Cassel. He slowed his pace until he neared the caravan door,

"Can I help you, my Lady?" He asked.

"I need to speak with Lord Stark." She said, hoping Jory would be able to find her a horse so she could ride over to her lord husband herself. Jory took a different approach.

"Lord Stark!" He shouted over the din of the travelers. Ned, as well as several other mounts, turned around to see the source of the disturbance.

"It's alright Jory, I just need my horse brought round so I can ask Ned if he's seen Arya." She explained quietly. Jory nodded and for a moment Catelyn hoped he might ride around to the back of the caravan and procure her horse for her. Instead he cupped his hands around his mouth and continued to yell.

"My Lord, Lady Stark would like to know if you've seen Lady Arya." He shouted. Ned shook his head and rerouted his horse in the direction of the caravan.

"What are you shouting about?" He asked, staring back and forth from Jory to Catelyn.

"Well, my Lord, I was trying to ask-"

"Ned," Catelyn said, cutting Jory off, "We'll be arriving at the Red Keep within the hour... Where is Arya?"

* * *

 

The men were out riding on their horses, galloping and frolicking and laughing so loudly it punctured through the walls of the stuffy old caravan and Arya was fed up with it all. It was bad enough that she never got to play with her brothers anymore in Winterfell while they all rode around and practiced with their swords while she was stuck inside with Sansa and their septa doing stupid needlework and whatnot. But now she was about to be stuck inside the Red Keep for months with no chance of sneaking out to play while her brothers stayed in Winterell, the home she had never wanted to leave. It would be months of curtseying and cooing about stitching and "Well done, Sansa." and "Yes, that's a lovely gown, Sansa." and "Arya, why can't you be more like Sansa?"

It hadn't even begun and she was already sick of it.

So when he lady mother was resting and Sansa's head was pushed so far out the caravan window it was likely it would be stuck there for eternity, Arya snuck out. She found her horse and rode alongside her father and his men. He didn't seem to mind, he just smiled at her in that sad way he always did, like he wasn't quite looking at her, but at someone else, then he continued about his business.

She guided her horse off the King's Road along the banks at the edge of the forest, she swung her legs as she straddled the horse, trying to enjoy her last few hours in breeches. Arya had managed to escape the confining skirts of a gown for as long as possible but she knew that with King's Landing came those stupid courtly get ups. She could fight tooth and nail but her lady mother was frightfully strong and always determined to get Arya to at least resemble a lady, despite her squirms and protests.

She saw a few men racing ahead and joined them, nudging her horse gently in the sides to get him to shoot off down the hill. She pulled ahead of the others so fast she was sure all they saw were the wisps of her hair as she flew past them. And then she was alone.

A girl and her horse stood, motionless in front of the Gate of the Gods. The gate lay open and waiting for the party that would be pouring in within the hour. After all, this was the day the Sansa would meet her husband, the king. It was a historic day, a great day. Arya scoffed, Sansa could have her stupid song for all she cared. She would've been fine if they'd left her back at Winterfell, but she'd been dragged along on this trip instead, though she'd done her fair share of kicking and screaming.

"Arya Stark," Her mother had said in a tone she used only when scolding her children, or anyone who's behavior she didn't particularly enjoy. "You are a lady of three and ten. You cannot pretend to be a little girl any longer." Arya rolled her eyes every time her mother said this. It wasn't as if she looked it four and ten.

She was still rake thin and hadn't a 'womanly' trait to cling to. She was still as flat and bony as Bran, and he was a boy of twelve. She was pale skinned and horse faced, as everyone so often liked to remind her. Her hair was a tangled, mess of thick brown knots. She mightn't have been a little girl anymore, she was smarter, stronger, faster, but nothing about her was vaguely ladylike. She was stuck in an in-between and no one seemed to have a place for her. And now they were throwing a wolf in with the lions... and the stags.

She was so angry that her father had taken up the king's offer to be the new Hand. Although, according to her sister, who had heard from their lady mother, there wasn't much of a way to refuse the leader of the realm. She was also angry at her brothers, who were allowed to stay home. "There must always be a Stark in Winterfell." Her mother had said, and Arya understood that, but why couldn't she be one of those Starks?

As her horse strolled through the Street of Steel no one seemed to notice or question the solitary girl, trotting through the city. They continued about their daily lives. What did it matter to them if some high lord was arriving with his family and a couple hundred guards? It wouldn't put food on their tables to gawk at every noble who road through past their shops.

She continued until she reached the stables, she tucked her horse away in an empty stall and hid out with her, concealed by hay and hooves until the sun was setting behind the monstrous red castle.

Arya didn't want to meet the king and queen. She remembered them well enough from when they'd visited Winterfell only two years ago. Queen Cersei, so cold and judging of everything Arya loved. Her home, her family, the North. And King Robert, a belligerent drunk. She remembered one night, she'd been leaving the dining hall and she'd bumped into the king. She'd made quick apologies and tried to escape but he stopped her. He'd had this glassy look in his eyes as he stared at her,

"It's unbelievable." He'd said.

"What is?" Arya asked. She remember cringing at the stink on his breath and reeling back as he ran his fingers along a strand of her hair.

"I'm so sorry I could never save you," The King slurred "But I've always loved you."

Jory had found them out there and guided the king back to the dining hall then escorted Arya to her room.

"The king gets too deep in his cups," He rambled as Arya told him what had happened. "Old battle wounds tend to open up when that happens." Jory had told her not to worry and that she wasn't in any trouble and that the next day the king wouldn't even remember what had happened.

But Arya noticed King Robert always looked at her that way. It was like the sad smile she caught on her father's face whenever she laughed with her brothers. King Robert would look at her sadly, or in confusion, or with anger in his eyes. It made Arya certain that she didn't want to be in the same room as him ever again.

No one seemed to want to answer when she asked who it was that the king and her father saw when they saw her. No matter who she asked people would shy away from the answer, or change the subject, or tell her to stop asking so many questions. One day she asked Old Nan and it was the only time that crazy old lady told a story that Arya cared about. It was the only story of Old Nan's that ever managed to give Arya nightmares. But that was stupid, she looked nothing like her dead Aunt Lyanna. She was supposed to be beautiful, that was Sansa, that wasn't Arya.

She waited until the sun had set and the stables were quiet and then, she ran.

* * *

 

Robert watched from the steps of the Red Keep as his old friend and his family walked up towards him. Ned knelt down and bowed his head and the trail of men behind him followed suit. He waved his hand and his friend stood up to face him. He smiled,

"You've got fat." he said. Ned looked him up and down and smirked. Robert laughed, "Come here." He pulled his friend into a hug and slapped him on the back. He looked over to Catelyn and embraced her too, "Cat." He smiled. Then he walked over to the girl with her eyes cast down to the ground. She looked like a miniature Catelyn Tully from her younger days.

"And this must be your Sansa," He glanced back at his son Joffrey. "You've certainly grown over the last few years." The girl was too shy and modest to look up at him. "Beautiful, just like your mother." He said. Only then did she blush and beam up at him.

"Thank you, Your Grace." She said.

Robert stopped and looked around, chuckling. Behind him his family stood in a line, dutifully.

Cersei stood in her usually gowns of red and gold, Lannister colours, as if she'd never married a Baratheon at all. Joffrey stood next to her, his eyes passing dismissively over the Starks, resting for a moment on Sansa before glancing and letting his face rest somewhere between a cringe and a smile. And Gendry stood to his right, standing tall and firm, nodding and bowing his welcome to Lord and Lady Stark. Myrcella and Tommen stood on either side of the ends, silent and smiling.

The King turned back to Ned, and glanced at the three smiling Starks, then back at his own brood, then to Ned again, clapping his hands together expectantly.t "Aren't we missing someone?"

* * *

 

She'd spent the afternoon wandering the city. She'd already discovered hiding places and what might've been a passageway outside the city's walls but eventually she overheard some guards discussing 'the missing Stark girl' and knew that it was time to hide.

Now she was tucked under the only weirwood in the Red Keep's godswood. She knew she was in trouble now, she could hear guards rushing around the castle and was sure she would get yelled at by her lady mother later tonight. Arya could just picture Sansa smiling demurely at the dining hall table with the queen doting on her. And her parents smiling proudly at their little queen-to-be. If she'd been there she would've just been a disappointment.

Besides this is what she was meant to do, going on adventures and sneaking and snooping through the streets. Not bowing and smiling and holding her tongue.

She placed her hand on the bark of the tree, feeling the mixture of roughness and sticky sap under her palm. Then she sunk to the ground and stared up at it, so big and majestic, though nothing compared to the one back home.

She let herself fall onto her back and tucked her knees up to her chest, then she stared up at the stars. She could hardly see them through he heart tree's red leaves. Not like in Winterfell. At night there it got so dark, so cold and quiet, that the stars practically screamed at you. They were begging to be seen and impossible to miss all at the same time. And in Winterfell no one cared if Arya snuck out of the dining hall to practice in the yard or to disappear to the hot springs before bed time. In the North she was free.

"Everyone's looking for you, you know." She tiled her head back and saw a boy standing in front of her. He looked like he was upside down until she shifted herself around and took in the proper sight of him.

He had charcoal hair that hung around light blue eyes. He was covered in dirt and ash and had a leather apron hanging from his chest to his knees. He looked young, she thought, must be the blacksmith's apprentice.

"They've got the castle guards on alert." He said, moving towards her. "They called off the feast and everything. Everyone's been out searching for hours."

"They must not be looking that hard." She grumbled "I've been sitting here all night." She eyed the boy carefully. "Are you going to turn me in?"

His eyes bore down on her, equally as careful. "I don't think I will." He said finally. She sat up straighter,

"Why not?" She asked.

"Because for now I'd rather stay and talk to you." He said, taking a place next to her under the weirwood tree. Arya scoffed at him and stood up to walk away.

"Why?" She grumbled.

"Why'd you run away?" He asked.

"What do you care?" She said, glaring at him.

"I'm curious." He said. And he was smiling at her in this stupid way. It made her uncomfortable. She began circling around the tree, her hand tracing over the bark as she walked and talked. And he stood and followed.

"Who are you?" She asked. She could hear him smirking.

"And I guess you're curious too." He said, not answering her question. She rolled her eyes and answered him.

"I'd rather be doing other things." She said with a shrug. He followed her around the tree, just trying to catch up to her.

"Like what?" He asked.

"Like exploring, or practicing swordplay in the training yard. Anything really. I didn't want to come here to begin with. I'd rather be with my brothers in Winterfell, everything is perfect there. I'd rather be back there right now."

"Things aren't so bad here." The boy said, "I could show you. Some of it might even keep you entertained."

"I could find them on my own." She said.

"Nah you couldn't." He said.

"And what makes you think that?" She asked.

"You had free run of the castle all day and yet you end up in the godswood?" He challenged. She shrugged,

"It reminds me of home." She said, staring up the sky and the tops of the trees. They were harder to see here, but if she squinted she could pretend they were the same stars they had in Winterfell.

"You really miss it don't you?" He asked. She nodded. It was a small nod, but he saw it. Then her eyes averted back to the ground and she continued her course around the tree.

"And I don't want to see the king." She said.

"Why not?" He asked. His tone wasn't judgmental like she thought it would be. But still, she hesitated before answering.

"I don't want to see any of them," She complained. It was a half-truth, "I hate it here, everything in the south is so restricted, from the walls on the city to the corsets on the ladies. Back in Winterfell I can run around like this all day long, not a care in the realm."

"That's hardly the royal family's fault. You blame all that on King Robert?" He asked.

"Yes." She decided quickly. "he's the one who dragged my family down here, making my father Hand of the King, making my sister marry that stupid prince. I don't even know why they brought me along," She said, throwing her hands in the air and pacing around the garden. "No, of course I do." She said, stopping in place. "They're trying to reign me in. To make me different, like her."

"Like her?" He asked, his eyes following every step of the wild girl in front of him.

"Like Sansa." Arya whispered.

"Your sister?" He asked.

"Yeah, Sansa." Arya said, "Everyone says she's perfect, that I should be more like her."

"Oh, I saw her." The boy said, "She was there to greet the king on the steps today." He shrugged, "She was alright."

"You must've been standing really far away." Arya muttered. Everyone always loved Sansa best.

"I had a fairly good view." He said, smiling.

He'd seen Sansa, in all her supposed perfection, smiling at him and his brother as everyone was introduced and reintroduced on the steps of the Red Keep. He'd seen how she pretended to be all innocent and then would sneak coy looks at Joffrey. And they way she gaped at Cersei's every move.

"She's nice enough, but nothing too special." He assured her. As he spoke Arya wormed her way back to the weirwood, resting her palm against the sap covered bark before clinging on and walking around the trunk. He followed along behind her. She scoffed and shook her head, taking no notice of his movements.

"You don't know what you're talking about, stupid." She said and he could hear a slight laugh in her voice. He liked that sound. But she still wouldn't look up at him.

"I know what it's like to have people want you to be someone you're not." He offered.

"They want me to be a proper lady, to wear dresses and speak nicely and sew with needles. But they raised me to be free, and to fight. They raised me to be strong and tough so I could survive the winter, like a wolf. And then they bring me down here to this stifling hot city! I can barely stand it!"

She stopped her steps and turned around, the boy's stopped abruptly behind her and took a step back, it was the only way for their eyes to meet. _Too tall to be just a boy_ , Arya thought.

"What could you possible know about all that? Aren't you a blacksmith?" She asked. .

"I want to be." He said, unable to take his eyes off her.

She pulled her hand away from the bark and wiped them together, laughing as they stuck to each other. She pried them apart and ran her hands along the dusty ash of his apron. He watched her as she ran her hands along his chest, the movement so innocent in her mind, then she smiled at her blackened hands and made a print on the tree between them. He did the same.

She smiled sadly at her small hand print next to his large one. Then her eyes returned to the stranger's.

"And what do people want you to be?" She was actually looking at him now, and not pulling away. They stood together under the heart tree.

Suddenly, his throat felt dry. "They want me to be King." He answered. He hated how quickly the hint of a smile dropped from her eyes.

"What?" She asked. Her voice sounded so small now. He immediately regretted telling her, or not telling her right away. He scratched his head and stepped out from under the tree.

"They, uh, they want me to be King, one day." He said.

"Arya?" Both their heads turned at the sudden disruption. Ned Stark was standing at the entrance to the godswood staring at his daughter and the prince standing under the red and white tree. It was like being transported back in time, as if he was watching Robert and Lyanna standing under the weirwood at the wedding that never was.

Ned watched as his daughter turned back to the prince, raised her tiny, ineffectual hands and began pounding small punches against his chest. When he smileded at her she spread out her hands and pushed him to the ground, he landed with a thud at the base of the tree and chuckled.

"Arya." Ned said, looking tired but not surprised by his daughter's actions. Arya turned back to her father and ran over to him, leaving the Gendry on the floor of the godswood. "I'm sorry I ran away." She said, then she took off running again.

At the end of the hall, she was reigned in by her septa and escorted to her room and only once she was out of sight did Ned turn back to the prince in the godswood. He offered him a hand to help him up.

"I'm sorry about my daughter." Ned said as Gendry dusted himself off.

"Don't apologize, Lord Stark." Gendry said "She's everything you warned she would be."

"And then some, I fear." Ned mumbled.

"She doesn't know, about the arrangement?" Gendry asked. Ned shook his head,

"Sansa and her mother know, but it was difficult enough getting Arya to King's Landing without the impending doom of marriage hanging over her."

"Impending doom?" Gendry said.

"Her view, not mine." Ned assured him. He clapped his hand on the boy's shoulder and they walked out of the godswood together.

"That's good," Gendry nodded, contemplating this fate. "Don't tell her. I'll tell her, when I'm ready, when she knows me better." Gendry decided, his mind lost in thought.

"Am I to assume this means you've made your choice?" He asked as he the prince walked out of the Godswood.

"Lord Stark, I think it's obvious to both of us that choice was never really there."

Ned watched him carefully, unsure of his meaning. But Prince Gendry just smiled at him, as if the great secret was so obvious.

"My father's not always a clever man, but it certainly seems he had this in mind when he first mentioned the idea to you all those years ago. He doesn't talk abut her often but I've heard him mention the name Lyanna-"

Gendry paused as Ned Stark's breath hitched. The two men continued walking.

"Once or twice." He finished.

"You think this was all Robert's grand plan all along?" Lord Stark asked.

"I think it was in his mind. But not only that, Sansa and Joffrey knew each other so long ago, that took away some of the choice, and once I stepped into that godswood tonight... none of the rest really mattered." He chuckled.

Ned's face looked pale as he sighed tiredly and Gendry felt for the man who'd lost two daughters in one day.

"We'll hold off telling her for a while." Gendry decided. "I'd like her to get to know me first, I'd like her to want to know me."

"As you wish," Ned said, "But Prince Gendry,"

"Yes, my lord?"

"Try not to end your next encounter like this one... you have yet to see my daughter with a sword in her hand." Ned Stark warned.


	3. Summer Skeletons

"Those are fine stitches, Sansa." Septa Mordane cooed.

"Yes, very fine stitches, Sansa." Jeyne Poole sang.

"Yes, lovely stitches Sansa!" Myrcella smiled.

Arya rolled her eyes as Sansa blushed and nodded at Myrcella,

"You're work is lovely as well, Princess Myrcella." Sansa replied. That started a whole new round of compliments.

"Yes, m'lady, you're stitches are beautiful, don't you agree Jeyne?" Septa Mordane said.

"Yes I-" Jeyne began, but was cut off by a loud groan from Arya. Their eyes all widened and snapped to her.

"Arya!" The septa began to scold, looking to Princess Myrcella in the hopes that she wasn't too horrified. But the princess' focus was elsewhere.

"My brother's here." She said, jumping up from her chair. The Septa looked slightly appalled by the princess' sudden excitement but held her tongue. Sansa and Jeyne began to whisper and giggle as Prince Gendry approached the ladies.

"Are you sure it's not going to be him?" Jeyne whispered excitedly into Sansa's ear. Sansa lightly elbowed her friend and shook her head with a grin plastered over her face.

"Nothing's written in stone." She whispered back to her friend. She glanced in Arya's direction, the look on her face turning sour. Arya, unsure why she was the object of Sansa's glaring, simply stuck out her tongue and continued with her sewing, suddenly finding it to be the most interesting thing in the room.

It was her first honest attempt at sewing that morning. She'd spent the first few hours of sunlight being wrangled out of bed and into a dress all while enduring her mother's umpteenth hour of scolding. Lady Stark had not been quite as amused as her Lord husband by Arya's little disappearing act. And while Catelyn had yelled and yelled at her daughter, Ned had simply sat there, a strange new tint to his usual tired expression. Arya apologized, though she didn't mean it, and begged for forgiveness, though she wasn't sure she wanted it, and finally she'd promised to be the perfect lady and follow Sansa around for the remainder of the trip, though she didn't intend to keep it.

But still, this morning she sat and pricked her finger again and again with her needle, vowing to make her promise last at least until midmorning to avoid the disappointment in her mother's eyes. She cursed under her breath before sucking away the small bubble of blood on the pad of her finger. She shifted her skirts uncomfortably around her feet, relishing the feel of the breeches she'd managed to sneak on underneath.

Now she kept her head tucked down; she was less than eager to see Westeros' future king, again. Especially in the light of day, when they could both see each other for who they were. Although he'd known exactly who she was when he'd found her in the godswood yesterday. She was the only one who had been deceived and she hated him for it.

"Good morning, ladies." The Prince greeted. "I was just passing by and thought I'd inform you, there's tea and lemoncakes waiting for you all out on the terrace."

Gendry kept shifting his eyes down to Arya, hoping for at least some reaction from her, but she suddenly seemed quite interested in her needlework. He should've told her last night, told her sooner.

"Thank you, Prince Gendry." Septa Mordane said.

"Yes, thank you Prince Gendry." Sansa repeated,

"Yes thank you Prin-" Again Jeyne was cut off.

"Thanks." Arya said with a glare before throwing down her needlework and stomping from the room. Her Septa followed, undoubtedly with a dropped jaw. She could hear Sansa sputtering excuses behind her and then she and Jeyne excused themselves politely.

Arya huffed outside the doorway as her sister, and stupid Jeyne Poole, walked past her, glaring.

"You might think to be more considerate of your hosts, Arya." The Septa reprimanded her. "Especially to the ones who will one day be your king." Septa Mordane left her there to sulk and joined Sansa and Jeyne as they continued to gossip down the way.

Arya stood there fuming for a moment before her attention was diverted elsewhere. She heard laughter behind her and when she turned around and looked back into the hall she found Gendry and his sister smiling at each other as she clapped, and bounced and jumped into his arms. Arya turned away again and found the three ladies in front of her, Sansa cooing about how polite the Prince was while the Septa and Jeyne agreed with girlish squeals.

"So gallant, don't you think?" Jeyne swooned. "And handsome."

"So handsome." Sansa sighed.

"Very handsome." Septa Mordane agreed practically. "And thoughtful of him to think of us and our midmorning tea."

That launched them into another round of giggles and gossip until Arya couldn't take it anymore.

"Great gods! He told us lunch was ready," She growled, "He didn't save the bloody kingdom from starvation."

"I do what I can." A voice behind her said. She groaned and turned around. The Prince was smirking at her once again.

"You do quite well." The septa said, leading the others in a course of curtsies before they all raised their eyes with looks of wild suggestion. The prince pretended not to notice, he just stayed with Arya until they'd disappeared down the steps. Myrcella followed shortly behind, smiling proudly at her brother as she left for the terrace. Once they were alone, Gendry relaxed and looked down at Arya. She was staring out at the gardens, down at her feet, at the the dirt under her nails, anywhere but up at him. He tapped her arm. "Come on," He said, nodding in the direction opposite of the ladies.

"Why would I go anywhere with you?" She said, stepping back and glaring at him. He smiled sadly but quickly regained his composure.

"Because it's either me, or an afternoon of lemoncakes and 'very nice stitches'." He said. "Look, I know you don't like me much at the moment, but I'd like to believe I'm slightly better than the alternative."

Arya narrowed her eyes at him and his annoying smile. "Fine." She grumbled.

She didn't understand this would-be king. No matter how annoyed she was with him, he just smiled at her. What was wrong with him, was he bored or just stupid? Joffrey was nothing like this, he'd hated her the moment he saw her and hadn't done anything to hide his disgust, neither had she.

"Where are we going?" She asked as he led her back through the hall. Though truthfully, she didn't much care. He was right, anything was better than another moment spent discussing needlework or the niceties of Lady Myrcella's gown.

"How would you like to explore the Red Keep?" He asked, turning around in hopes of seeing a smile on her face.

"I did that yesterday." She said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Well, perhaps there are some places I'd like to show you. Some things you might've missed." He said, leading her down a winding stone staircase.

"Like where?" She asked, stepping into the darkness.

* * *

 

"This is a dangerous game you're playing, Robert." Ned said carefully. The small council meeting was ending and Ned had waited until each member had left the room before addressing his King in such a way. Truth be told the whole conversation felt untoward, but Ned knew he must bring it up.

He followed his king out to the balcony, below he could see Cersei sitting in the garden, a thorn among the flowers he was sure. He'd had misgivings about the queen as long as he'd known her. And now being closer to her than ever he began to feel the toxic reign she had on the Keep.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ned." the King said, his eyes fixed off into the distance.

"Arya." Ned said.

And there she was, just below them now. Arya, fidgeting in her skirts as the ladies exited the hall, and there was Prince Gendy. The ladies disappeared off to the side while those two remained in their place. They were talking, though he could practically feel Arya's frustration and resentment from here, as well as the Prince's awkwardness. And then not a second later, they took off together, back into the hall. Ned felt his heart sink deeper in his chest.

Robert stood next to him, beaming down at the young couple.

"Those two seem to be getting along quite well, it would seem." He said, smiling proudly at Ned.

"Robert," He warned, "All due respect, you don't know what you're doing here."

The King ignored his words, "They look good together, my oldest and your young one. They'd make a fine pair. It is up to Gendry in the end, I suppose. Our future king. Though it's no surprise she caught his attention after evading him last night. A smart move on her part."

"It was not her intention to catch your son's attention, she was trying to escape." Ned assured him.

"Well of course she was! She's a Stark!" Robert shouted, slapping Lord Stark on the back. "Willfull and wild, just like the North."

"And it's the North where she belongs." Ned said, quietly. "She was hiding out in the godswood. I found the two of them alone in there last night."

"Is that right?" Robert said, his eyebrow raised suggestively, though his mind seemed to be half-elsehwere already.

"Talking under the heart tree. Seeing them standing there, it was like seeing you and Lyanna." He said carefully, he stepped closer to Robert and placed a hand gently on his shoulder. "I can see why it would be tempting to place them together. You have a son, and I have a daughter, and they both just so happen to resemble... but you'd do best not to overlook other obvious similarities beyond appearances."

The King shoved his friend's hand away and walked to the opposing end of the balcony. Still Ned Stark forced himself to continue, "Arya is wilful and wild like her aunt. She has her spirit, she's enchanting and enticing, though she doesn't know it yet. And much like her aunt she can't stand to sit still, or be told to stay that way. And yet you want her to be pinned down to the Capitol, stuck in a dress and crown to act like your current queen-"

"I intend nothing of the sort!" Robert yelled.

Ned stopped talking immediately and a silence descended between them.

"I only wish..." Ned said carefully, "I only wish that the past does not repeat itself."

"Ned, you're letting your imagination run away from you." Robert said, in a voice much sharper than a simple warning.

"It's not my imagination you need to worry about, it was your son who suggested the idea to me in the first place." He said. "Even your young Prince can see your feeble plans, and he doesn't have the advantage of our knowledge of the past. Neither does Arya! They're bound to repeat our mistakes if we do not-"

"They won't!" The King said, slamming a hand down on the railing. In the garden down below the women stopped their gossip and Queen Cersei raised her eyes up to her husband's caterwauling. "I won't let them." Robert said quietly. "And neither will you."

King Robert turned around and looked Lord Stark in the eye, "I think we can put this matter to rest for now, don't you, Lord Stark?" Without an answer, the King brushed past him.

"As you wish, Your Grace." Ned answered with a sigh.

His eyes swept once more over the garden where the Queen stared up at him, her eyes clear and unblinking. She hears all, he thought.

* * *

 

"Where are you taking me?" Arya asked as they circled down a winding staircase. The light was dimming as they descended into the dark. And while Arya knew she should've felt frightened, like Sansa might've, or indecent, like her mother would've felt, disappearing into a darkened corridor, unsupervised with a boy, all she felt was elated.

She couldn't see anything more than Gendry's back on the steps in front of her, but in the darkness was excitement, and adventure, and the unknown, and it led to somewhere that wasn't the Red Keep with it's court and it's banquets and it's perfect stitches.

"The stairs get a bit tricky." Gendry said. "Watch you step."

No sooner did he say it than Arya felt herself crash against his back. She grimaced in the dark and felt as his hands wrapped behind himself to hold her.

"You okay?" He said, releasing one hand and turning to face her, making no effort to move away.

Arya's breathing steadied from the slip and she straightened up, her hand on Gendry's shoulder slid down to his chest. Then she pushed him against the wall and strode on past him down the stairs into the darkness.

"Perfectly fine." She smiled, he couldn't see it but he felt it.

Gendry listened for her footsteps but he couldn't hear any. Meanwhile, his own feet made their usual graceless clomp, clomp, clomp, as he followed around her.

"What's down here?" She asked. His eyes flicked around in the darkness, trying to follow her voice, but the sounds reverberated off the walls, confusing him even more.

He scratched his head, "Uh, a bunch of stuff. One way leads to the dungeons, another to some of the really old chambers Aegon Targaeryen used for his meetings."

"Anything else?" She asked.

"Yes." He nodded, though she couldn't see him do it. "Over here."

"Where?" She asked, and he could hear her standing right behind him.

"Um, give me your hand." He held his out and felt her press her small hand roughly into his. He took it and placed it gently against the hard surface before them.

"What's this?" She asked. She stepped beside him and he heard her gasp as her hand ran out from under his.

"Dragon skulls." He said. She laughed excitedly and then began circling around the giant remains.

"It's humongous!" She said, her voice echoing as if it was far away. "Can I see it?"

"There's a torch around here somewhere, but I'm can't find it right now." He said.

"We need to find one!" She said, running back around the skull only to bump into the Prince and again.

Gendry reach out and grabbed her arms, steadying them both in the process. Eventually his hand found hers and when it did he lifted it and placed it back on the thick white bone of the dragon's skull.

"I'll find it," He said, "You wait here." taking off before she could argue. Though for once, she wasn't going to.

Down here, in the cold dark, damp, it didn't feel like she was in a Southron city. And mayhaps she could stay down here forever. Living in the tunnels, the dark crevices of King's Landing, only coming up for light to hunt game in the forest and go running with the wolves. She ran her hand along the skull and traced it's outskirts, placing one foot slowly in front of the other.

"House Targaryen," She said out loud, "Fire and Blood. Red and Black. Dragons." She smiled and tapped her knuckles gently against the magical creatures old bones. "House Lannister: Hear Me Roar. Crimson and gold. Lions. House Arryn: As High As Honour. Blue and white. Falcons. House Tully: Family, Duty, Honour. Red and Blue. Trouts. Stupid fish." She said, rolling her eyes. "House Stark: Winter Is Coming. White and Grey. Direwolves," With those words she couldn't surpress the pride on her lips. "House Baratheon: Ours Is the Fury. Black and gold. St-"

Her words were cut off by the sudden flame before her, and the appearance of Prince Gendry's quizzical expression.

"Stags." She finished.

"What are you doing?" He asked.

"I wasn't sure just how large this skull was so I was measuring it,"

"By houses." He finished for her. She nodded.

"And thank the gods you showed up, I was almost out." He laughed at that.

"Hundreds of houses spread out across the Seven Kingdoms and you can only name how many?" He asked.

Arya counted back in her head, "Six?"

"Oh, we can do better than that." Gendry said, smiling down at her, he walked backwards around the dragon's skull, so as to keep his eyes on her as they circled it together.

"Who are you, my septa?" Arya teased.

"Yes, don't I disguise myself well?" Gendry teased back. He made her laugh. A true, honest, loud laugh that echoed across the walls of the caverns so he could enjoy the sound of it again and again.

"Very well, if you insist," She said with a smile, "House..."

"Greyjoy." He finished for her.

"Fine. Greyjoy: We Do Not Sow. Gold and Black. Krakens." She said. "Karstark."

"The Sun of Winter" He said happily accepting her challenge. "Grey and Black. The Sunburst."

They continued this game for longer than either expected, running through every house they could think of: Manderly, Frey, Mormont, Ambrose, Tyrell, Redwyne, Trant, Martell, Reed, Mallister, Bolton, Errol, Glover, Tarth, and on and on and on.

Eventually the light grew dim and the Houses were running thin too.

Arya stretched both hands out against the dragon's skull, imaging shining black scales instead of cool white bone.

"What I wouldn't give for a dragon of my own." She smiled, flipping around and leaning her back against it. Her eyes remained closed. If this dragon were real, she liked to pretend that right now it wasn't trapped in a dark, dingy tunnel, but pacing eagerly outside the city walls, ready to take flight. And she would be standing next to it, then on it's wing, then riding on it's back as it flew over the city, mayhaps setting fire to the Red Keep and the walls surrounding it, the ones keeping her, keeping everyone in.

When she opened her eyes she realized the Prince was staring at her, his head tilted to one side and a strange smile covering his lips. Her arms were spread out beside her, wide and stretched out perfectly straight. She turned back around and pressed her hands against the beast's bones once more. No scales to be found.

Arya whipped around and grabbed the torch from Gendry's hand then walked around to the back of the skull where there was an opening. She stepped inside and placed the flame on the ground in the centre where it caught alight to the dust and the remains of a small fire. Someone else had been here before.

"Dragons would be nice." The Prince said finally. "Still direwolves are hardly mundane. Anything's better than a stag, really. They hunt us in the summer. The lions, the bears, we're their prey." Arya paused to listen, unsure if he spoke of the animals or the people. "Direwolves are strong, and fierce. Not unlike their owners." He said, ducking his head under the jaw of the Dragon's skull to catch a peek of Arya. She looked up at him and smiled. "Is it true, your brothers found a pack of direwolves in the forest one day, and gave each one to a Stark child?"

"It's true." She said. It was fewer words than she'd ever spoken and she felt herself in the strange position of wanting to tell him everything and at the same time wanting to avoid the conversation entirely. "My brother Jon found them, with my brother Robb."

"Jon Snow?" Gendry asked. Arya went quiet.

"Yes." She said. She wanted Gendry to choose his next words very carefully because for some reason she found herself afraid of what he might say.

"Your father was telling me about him last night. He thinks we would've gotten along well but I never got the chance to meet him. He took the Black a few years ago?"

She nodded quickly, relieved that he hadn't called him a bastard, relieved that perhaps, like her, he didn't people as others saw them. "He's technically my half-brother," She admitted. "But he's my best brother." She almost told Gndry about the small sword Jon had given her, the one hidden under her bed upstairs, but it felt like a betrayal to her brother so she kept it to herself for now. "He never tried to make me behave like a lady, he loved me just like this." She sighed, "I used to feel like we were different from the others. We look different, we look like the North, and neither of us really felt like we belonged. But he's gone now, I haven't seen him in five years."

She grew silent then, consumed by this sudden feeling of loss. She pushed it down.

"Six direwolf cubs, to six Stark children. Jon has Ghost, Robb has Grey Wind, Bran has Summer, Rickon has Shaggydog, Sansa has Lady, though she... she's not there anymore."

"What happened?" He asked, leaning in on the giant teeth of the dragon so see her better in the light. She looked so small trapped inside it's jaw, illuminated by the light as if it was breathing fire right onto her, and she was staring that fire down into submission.

She walked closer to him and pressed herself against the opposite side of the teeth.

"Your stupid brother," She said through gritted teeth, "And stupid Sansa. They're were both being so... I just couldn't..." She looked up at eyes wide and fearful. Slowly she backed away from him, the heaviness of her skirts dimming the light of the fire, casting her in shadow. "It was my fault." She said. "I mean, no it wash't. It was everyone's fail, but partly mine." She continued stepping back until she stepped over the fire and landed safely on the other side. Her back touched gently against the dragon's jaw and she sank down against it until she landed on the ground. Hugging her legs in close she continued to speak. Gendry meanwhile had stepped inside the monster's mouth and was watching her intently as she shrunk before him. "What happened was this..."

And so she told him. The story he'd heard before, but only patched up versions since his family's return from Winterfell five years ago. Arya told him her version, one that had been amended over the years every time she thought back on it. She'd been so stubborn, so headstrong as her mother loved to call her. But Joffrey was an idiot, and Sansa had been so dumb and naive. She couldn't see the young prince for the creep he was. But as the years went by and Arya watched as every Stark child grew up with a wolf by their side while Sansa sat alone, she couldn't help but feel some fault. The small guilt crept up in her, for not lying for her sister to save Lady, for not being able to save Lady herself. Just the thought of losing Nymeria was enough to make Arya to crazy, like ripping away a part of her soul, the part of her that was a Stark, she couldn't bear to think that burden had passed on to Sansa. That's the version she told him, the one she'd never admitted to anyone else before.

"I think a part of her died that day." She said quietly, once her story was told. "There's this saying "there must always be a Stark in Winterfell". That's where we belong, that's where we are strongest. For us Stark children, we bonded with those wolves, to lose one, to cut that bond, would be like cutting us off from the North itself. Lady never attacked anyone, she was the best trained of all the them, but she would've protected Sansa, like Summer protected Bran, like Ghost protects Jon at the Wall, and now she's gone."

"So you'll protect her." Gendry said. Arya turned and looked at him, sitting next to her. She'd almost forgotten he was there she'd been talking for so long. She sniffled, wiped her nose in her sleeve and stared up at him.

"What?" She asked.

"Your direwolves are strong and protective, and they connect you to your home, to the North, so be that for your sister. Remind her everyday of where she comes from and guard her against anyone who tries to take that away from her. Be there for her. You're her family, you love her. Be her direwolf." She smiled sadly at his words and dropped her eyes away from his.

"Where's your direwolf?" He asked.

"I sent her away." Arya replied, her voice now a mix of shakiness and strength. "After Lady was killed I knew they might come for Nymeria next so I had to send her away. I threw rocks at her until she disappeared into the woods. I had to protect her."

Gendry nodded, "But now who protects you?"

"She'll be back one day," Arya said, half-answering his question. "I can still feel her out there. Sometimes I dream she's running through the woods. Sometimes I think I hear her howling at night. We'll find each other one day. I saved her, and someday she'll repay the favour."

"And until then, I'll watch over you for her." Gendry said. "You protect Sansa, and I'll protect you."

She couldn't look at him. She could only stare into the dying coals of the fire and rock to the side, pushing against him to show her annoyance. Why was she telling him this? How had they even started this conversation? Suddenly, she didn't want to be here anymore. Her skin itched and the dying fire felt far too warm. "Idiot." She mumbled.

He smiled, thinking it was a compliment.

"Stupid stag." She said, louder this time, pushing him harder with her hands. In the dying light, he could see her standing over him. "I don't need anyone to protect me. I can do just fine on my own. I don't need help from your princeliness, you stupid stag, you dumb blacksmith, you liar."

And then she ran, leaving him alone in the dark with the dragon skulls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review and let me know what you think of the story so far!


	4. Names

"And where did you disappear to today?" Sansa asked as she fixed her hair in her room in the tower. Arya stormed into the room and flopped down on her sister's bed. The hem of her skirts were covered in dust from the tunnels under the Red Keep and her hair was a mess from tugging at the braids and buns that had attempted to whip it into submission.

"Nowhere important." She said wistfully.

Sansa paused a moment. Usually Arya would've stormed into the room with a glare at her sister's attempts at perfection, would've mocked her southern hairstyles, would've rubbed a handful of dirt across her skirts just to make Sansa cringe.

"Were you off with the Prince?" Sansa asked carefully. "After he told us about the tea and cakes you both vanished. I suppose I figured you must've vanished off together." Arya kept her head on the featherbed and stared up at the ceiling.

"No, I went exploring on my own. Why would I go anywhere with that dumb prince?" She said, picking at the stitching of the blankets.

"He's the future King, Arya, you shouldn't speak of him like that." Sansa said quietly, trying her best to see her sister in the mirror's reflection. "And you shouldn't break your promise to our mother like that. You told her you would try harder to-"

"I know what I said, Sansa. I don't need you to remind me." Arya groaned.

"It's just, I do need to remind you. We have responsibilities here, Arya. To represent our House, the North, to show everyone here that we belong here as well as they do."

"You're not representing the North. The North is nothing like this! We don't belong here!" Arya shouted, sitting up pin straight. "I don't want to belong here."

Sansa was at a loss for words, her mother and father had been very specific: Arya was not to know about the marriage. And Sansa knew that if Arya was to remain ignorant to it, she'd have to help her survive this place.

But this put Sansa in a difficult spot: on the one hand she had Joffrey. They'd gotten along so well when they'd last met. Sansa had thought of him frequently in the last five years, her handsome prince. Some memories stood out more vividly than others, and some she'd created all on her own. She'd imagined her future with Joffrey, what their children would look like, if they'd take the reign of Storm's End since Stannis Baratheon had yet to produce a male heir, or if by some strange twist of magic Joff would be named King.

That was the catch of it all. Sansa had spent years pining after her memories of Queen Cersei, the most perfect woman she'd ever beheld. She wanted that, she wanted to be that more than anything. And she could have it, if she married Prince Gendry. She'd never been able to picture the prince, he'd never shown all those years ago in Winterfell, all she had to go on was that, unlike Joffrey, he was the spitting image of King Robert, and that wasn't much for a girl to hold out hope on. But he was so much better than King Robert could ever be. He was unbelievably handsome, well-mannered, Myrcella raved about him constantly and he was well liked by the people. He would make a great king. And he could be hers. She could be his.

Then there was Arya to consider. Sansa glanced over her shoulder at her sister. There was always Arya to consider.

She wouldn't make a good queen. It was the plain fact that couldn't be avoided. She was restless, and impatient, she hated anyone who wasn't from the North, and even some of them she wasn't overly fond of. She wouldn't be a good match for Gendry. They didn't have a future together, they were incompatible at the base of it.

But Arya and Joffrey, that would be a disaster. She's not sure which would happen first: Arya killing Joffrey or Joffrey killing himself.

 _I could tell her_ , The thought crept up on Sansa all of a sudden, _I could tell her right now_. Then the choice would be all mine. "No." She said quietly, shaking the evil thought from her head. She stood suddenly, and looked at her sister.

"Arya," She found herself saying,

"Hmm?" Her sister said. Her eyes were closed, her fingers rubbing her temples.

"If you could go anywhere in the seven kingdoms, anywhere in the world, where would you go?"

"That's a dumb question," Arya said, finally sounding like her usual self. "I would go..." Then she couldn't find an answer. Winterfell, the Wall, those were the obvious choices. East to Essos, the Shivering Sea, the Iron Islands, Dorne, Bear Island. She wanted to go everywhere. And then she would return home. "I don't know where I'd go." She said honestly. Her thoughts drifted back to her conversation with Gendry. She could out to the woods, she was sure if she waited there long enough that Nymeria would find her. And she'd have grown big and Arya could ride on her back all across the Seven Kingdoms. "I never did go see the Wall." She wanted Jon, more than anything suddenly she had to see him.

"Mayhaps you should go," Sansa said, appalling herself with her own words. Either she was concocting some malicious plan, or else she genuinely felt for her sister. She wasn't sure which feeling burned stronger inside her. "You might never get another chance." If only she knew how true that was.

The sentence hung over them, pure silence filled the room, only the sound of the winds, and then they both turned, Sansa to her vanity mirror, Arya to her own room.

Arya paced around her room for the next hour, by the time her mother came in to check on her preparations for dinner, but of course, nothing was prepared. Her hair, still a mess, was stringy and falling in pieces around her face. Her skirts were not only covered in grime but wrinkled as well. But that wasn't what her mother noticed about her when she walked into the room. She noticed how her daughter was wringing her hands over and over, walking back and forth in front of the balcony door, like a caged animal going mad.

"Arya?" She said, the girl didn't seem to hear her. "Arya, stop this right now." Catelyn said, attempting to sound firm. Arya just looked at her nervously, eyes wide and terrified, and continued her pacing.

Cat backed slowly out of the room and went as fast as her feet could carry her up to her bed chamber. Ned sat on the bed in front of her, staring out the window at the city, he look so tired already, so worn down, and they'd only just arrived in the Capital. "Ned," She said, causing his attention to flick up. "Come quick, it's Arya." Her husband stood and brushed past her, the two of them chased down the stairs to Arya's room once more. The door was open and she was still there, pacing.

Ned gave his wife a knowing look and she nodded closing the door behind him as he entered. He walked up to his daughter and clasped her small arm in his hands. "Arya?"

She finally stopped in her tracks. "I want to see Jon." She said, like an arrow piercing his heart. "I want to see him, now. Can we go now?"

Ned was speechless. "Arya, what brought this on?"

"I haven't seen him in years. And you promised we could go visit him at the Wall and we never did. What if I never see him again?" She asked.

"Arya," Ned said slowly, "What did Sansa say to you?"

"She asked me if I wanted to go anywhere in the world, where would it be?" She said.

"And you thought of Jon?" He said.

"No, I thought of a hundred different places at once, and then I realized Jon and the Wall. He wasn't even my first thought, how awful is that? I want to go to countless different places, and he wasn't the first on my list. He should be." She decided. "He is. My first thought was that this is the last place in Westeros I'd ever want to be. I don't want to be here anymore."

"Arya, it's been two days." He reasoned.

"And that's two days too long." She looked him clear in the eye, "I need to go home."

He wanted to give that to her, more than anything, but he couldn't. "What if instead I bring a part of home here to you?" He said. "Or better yet, you stop hiding what you're hiding under your bed."

Finally, she broke a smile. And though Ned could barely believe it, a faint red blush crept up her cheeks.

She stood and walked to the side of her bed, pulling out the small case that held her very own sword, the one Jon had given her before he left for the Wall. She took it from it's scabbard and walked over to her father's side. She presented it to him meekly, but could barely hide her pride.

"Do you still remember everything your brothers taught you?" She nodded. "Well, perhaps you should spend tonight on your own practicing, and we'll see what tomorrow brings."

"So I don't have to go to dinner with the royal family?" She asked.

"Not tonight, Arya." He clarified. "But soon, you will. You can't avoid it forever."

She groaned and watched him leave the room, when the door clicked shut behind him she picked up her sword and started to swing.

* * *

 

Sansa sat down at dinner while once again, Arya was absent. Her father and mother had excused her, saying she had taken ill, the King had nodded half-heartedly and Prince Gendry had expressed his concern, but after that no more questions were asked.

It went unnoticed that Sansa too was feeling less than well. She couldn't stop herself from thinking about her conversation with Arya. She'd tried to send her sister away, indirectly of course, but that had been her intent. Deep down she couldn't ignore that fact. And now she was struck by a strange mix of guilt and the disappointment that came from knowing her plan had fallen through.

Her eyes landed on the Queen, the regal, beautiful queen with her perfect posture, her dresses and hairs so intricately designed, so polished. Her smile so demure. She could be like her. She would be like her.

She turned to her left, to Prince Joffrey and smiled, "I must say, your Grace, the castle is quite incredible. From what little I've seen of it so far it seems so grand and breathtaking. So much unlike anything in the North."

Joffrey looked at her a scoffed before grabbing his goblet of wine and taking a sip, "Of course it is." He said. "This is a magnificent city, grander than any to come before it."

"Have you seen many cities, my lord?" Sansa asked, desperate to make up for her first comment. She was eager to speak with the prince, to get to know both him and his brother, and to be the darling Northern girl all the Soutrhoners knew and loved. But now that she was here, her fantasies were out of reach and she was finding it harder and harder to become the girl she'd always imagined.

Joffrey's face blanched for a sliver of a moment before he contorted it into an expression of derision, "Of course I've seen many cities. I'm the royal prince of Westeros."

"Of course, you Grace." Sansa stuttered in reply, no longer sure where she'd gone so wrong.

Prince Gendry leaned forwards in his chair, he sat on the other side of Joffrey, and interrupted them. "Mayhaps, little brother, you could tell Lady Sansa some of the places you've travelled?"

Joffrey scowled at his brother but Sansa was still all nervous smiles, "I would love to hear some of your stories, Prince Joffrey."

Gendry smiled. He felt for the girl, and her patience knew no bounds.

"I wouldn't bother with stories about our travels." Joffrey said, his voice a mix of sullenness and uncertainty.

Truthfully, Gendry wasn't sure if Joffrey was capable of telling a story. He didn't converse well with people about matters that didn't revolve around him or his interests, which were unvaried and odd. Gendry could only manage a conversation with his brother under the best of times, more often than not they regarded each other cooly and with a borderline hostile civility.

He could never be sure what is what although he could warrant the obvious guess that it had something to do with the crown Gendry would one day wear, plus a little extra prodding from their mother. It was the same attitude their father took in the practice yard: a little friendly compassion, a bit of brotherly comradery, a good honest fight. Although the Queen didn't play with brute force, she played a different game, and Joffrey had always been her favourite game piece.

Still the Starks were their guests, and they would soon enough be more than that, and Gendry knew it was part of his duty to see that Joffrey didn't alienate this poor girl who would one day be his brother's wife.

"You could tell her about our trip to Storm's End, about Myrcella and Shireen's discovery out on the beaches."

Again, Joffrey could only scoff and drink from his glass. "They saw some red lights in the sky, who would care about such stupid things?"

Gendry had to hold back from laughing at his brother's obliviousness. "Well, mayhaps Lady Sansa would." He said. Joffrey said nothing, only tightened his grip around his fork before letting go and pushing his chair back. He brushed past his brother as he walked away from the table. "I apologize for my brother." Gendry said. The two of them watched as Joffrey disappeared from the Hall.

"Well, I apologize for my sister, your Grace" Sansa said, rolling her eyes.

"You really don't have to apologize for Arya, Lady Sansa." Gendry said, smiling.

"Oh, I really do." Sansa insisted. "For what she was saying yesterday, for her absence when we met you at the steps of the Keep, for the uproar she caused that night. She couldn't even come to dinner tonight to make up for it, she's unbelievable, some times I swear." Sansa's eyes widened as she heard her own words back through her ears. "Oh, I'm sorry your Grace, I didm mean to-"

"Please, you don't have to apologize for everything. Arya is Arya, I was well-informed of that before you arrived. And you don't have to apologize for yourself either." He looked around and leaned in close, unsure of who could be listening or who might appear. "You and I will be family one day, it's inevitable." He smiled and leaned back into his seat. "Might as well start acting like it now."

Sansa smiled back at him. He reached for his goblet of wine and took a quick sip before turning back to Sansa. "So where is Arya tonight?" He asked, trying to make his voice sound even.

Sansa shrugged, "She'd had a bad day, to be quite honest, she hates it here. Anyway, our father said she could stay in her room for the night."

"So how far do you think she's run?" Gendry asked, making her laugh.

"She could be halfway across Westeros by now." Sansa giggled, then her smile faded. "She might've actually run. I should go check on her, actually."

Gendry nodded and Sansa stood to go, her heart hurt as she stood. She finally had a chance alone with the future King and here she was, leaving him alone at the feast, to check on her sister of all people. Then, Prince Gendry stood too.

"I'll help you search." He said. "It would not be good if we lost her again."

Sansa smiled and together they made their way from the hall when a single voice, ringing out clear above the others, stopped them.

"Sansa? Where is Sansa?" She turned to look and found the Queen perched in her chair, her eyes scanning the hall for the young Stark girl.

She turned back to the Prince, "You should go," He said. "In my experience it's best not to make her call your name a third time."

Sansa wavered, her mind stuck between the two decisions.

The Prince nodded his head back to the noise of the Hall, "Go," He said. "I'll go find Arya."

Sansa beamed up at him before scurrying back to the tall table at the front of the room. Her skirts were in a flurry around her ankles and her hands flew to fix her hair as she approached closer.

"Ah, Sansa, there you are." Queen Cersei said as Sansa stood breathlessly before her. "Come have a seat. My daughter was just telling me all about the afternoon you two spent together, I'd love for you to regale me with more stories of the North, as you've done for her."

Sansa accepted the seat next to Princess Myrcella and began to speak, checking over her shoulder one last time with a smile to see if the Prince was still at the door to the Hall. She searched for only a moment, letting her smile falter slightly, before turning back to the Queen and sharing her tale. Prince Gendry was already long gone.

* * *

 

It was late in the godswood when Arya finally started to feel tired. She left her room hours ago, practicing her swordplay had suddenly made the space seem so small and she'd already made a few slashes in the castle's stone walls from some over eager swings.

But out here, the air was clear and crisp, and there was endless amounts of space. And she wasn't alone out here, every tree was a challenger, every shadow an enemy waiting to be torn down. And when the wind rose up, they were ready to fight, and she was ready to fight back.

With every swing her arms felt weaker but her spirit gained strength. This is what she missed, the power that came with holding a sword. The might she felt, small as she was, when she made the tree bark splinter with her blade. She cornered in on the enemy, a small, crumpled tree in the far corner of the wood. She pretended she was Queen Nymeria conquering Dorne. She pretended she was fighting in the War of the Seven Kingdoms. She pretended she was her father, wielding Ice against those who fled their duties at the Wall.

She swung, and stopped short. Suddenly, Jon was in front of her. Jon with his raggedy black hair, Ghost was at his side, his clothes were all black like all other men of the Watch. Her breath hitched as she realized this was the last time she would see him, this little recollection here, because soon she would forget. She could feel herself forgetting already, and she hated herself for it. Had his hair always been that short? Was that how it had looked last time she'd seen him?

She shook her head and he was gone. Needle was pointed high in the air, her arms were taut and straight.

"I knew I'd find you here."

She swung around, her arms still straight as pins, and found Prince Gendry at the other end of her sword. His eyes widened and he held his hands up in front of him,

"I surrender." He said jokingly. Her arms relaxed, but only slightly. "You weren't at the feast." A statement, not a question.

"I wasn't feeling well.' She said.

Needle fell to the dirt with a small, hollow clatter and Arya crumbled with it. She wasn't crying, Arya Stark didn't cry. Instead her fingers began eagerly attacking her hair, to pull it from the semblance of a bun she'd compiled it into when she'd begun training. She threw the leather tie on the ground and let her shoulders slump forward.

"I'm sorry about earlier," She ran her fingers along the dirt as she spoke. "I shouldn't have called you a liar."

Gendry smiled down at her, thinking how she was still so young in some ways, and how neither of them was ready for what they had to face.

"That's fine. I suppose in some ways I deserved it." He said, sitting nearby, wanting to give her space. He placed his hand gingerly over the sword and waited for her nod of approval. When she gave it, he picked it up and balanced it in his hand.

"This is beautiful work." He said.

"My brother Jon had it made for me, before he left for the Wall." She explained, though she didn't offer more than that. She still felt a stab of pain in her heart at the mention of Jon.

"It's perfect for someone your size." He added, flipping the blade by the handle and offering it back to her. She accepted and placed it carefully on the ground between them again, like a line in the sand. "Dinner's over." He said. "But there'll be leftovers in the kitchens soon, if you're hungry."

She shook her head though she was quite hungry. She was also dead tired, and sweating all over from practicing for so long. She wanted nothing more in that moment than to fall asleep right there in the cool dew of the godswood. So she lay down in the dirt and the grass with Needle by her side and turned to look at Gendry.

"Tell me something." she said simply. She wasn't sure whether she wanted a story, one about the old Kings and Queens who conquered the land, or for him to tell her something about himself, she just wanted a voice.

"Okay," He said, running his fingers absentmindedly along the blade until it reached the part where it met the hem of her cloak. "One day, I was out exploring the castle. And I found a hidden passageway, nothing too fancy, it led out to the Street of Steel."

"Out behind the stables," Arya said as her eyes drifted shut. "Between the servant's entrance and the hay bales."

He smiled and shook his head. "Exactly." Of course she already knows, he thought. It had taken him twelve years to find that spot, and she'd found it in two days. "So I ran out of the castle for the day. And I ended up in Tobho Mott's shop. I remember thinking how warm it was in there. The Red Keep has always felt so cold to me. I'm not sure how they manage it."

"Winterfell's built over a hot spring." Arya said absentmindedly, her eyes fluttering shut. "Stays warm all winter."

He smiled and nodded. "Well the same cannot be said for this castle."

"So what did you do?" She asked.

"I stayed there for four days." He said.

Arya's eyes opened wide, "What?!"

"I went inside and Tobho asked me if I was the new apprentice, I lied and said I was. He was new to the city, he didn't know who I was or what Prince Gendry looked like. And I was a boy of eleven who didn't want to be stuck inside a castle all day. I tell you, when the real apprentice showed up, he was this tiny little ratlike boy, just as skinny as me, but I was a little taller, I just started swinging Tobho's hammer at him til he went running down the street. Told Tobho he was thief I'd chased away, he loved me after that."

"So what happened next?" Arya asked. "Surely someone noticed you were gone?"

"Not a one." He replied. "I returned that night, thinking selfishly, ridiculously that the whole Keep would be in an uproar."

"And?" She asked, propping herself up on her elbows, suddenly fully awake.

"And no one had noticed I was gone. Not too surprising I suppose, I was just a kid at the time. All I'd missed was a day's lessons, fighting practice, and the like. Apparently the queen had made my excuses for me, saying I was sick and whatnot. I came back and every kept asking 'Oh are you feeling better, Prince Gendry?' or 'Good to see you back on your feet, your Grace.' and I was so confused. Then at dinner my father hadn't even noticed I was gone, Cersei didn't ask me what I'd done that day. Everyone just carried on with their lives. So I left again after the feast and I didn't come back. After a couple of hours I got back to Tobho Mott's shop, he yelled at me for hours, threw me around a bit too. He noticed I was gone."

"That's terrible." Arya said.

"No, it was... good. I worked for him for three days, and I learned a lot, was humbled a lot. Then the Gold Cloaks showed up, they'd started searching for me that morning and found me that night. Poor old Mott didn't know what was going on, he had no idea who I really was. I thought they were going to beat him within an inch of his life."

"What happened?" Arta asked, leaning in closer.

"I stepped in the middle of them, grabbed one of my half finished swords and started swinging at the guards. Told them everything. They brought me to my father and he just laughed. Picture it, him sitting up on his Iron Throne, me, this kid with shackles around his wrists standing in front of him with three Gold Cloaks on either side."

"And what did you do?"

"I told him everything too." He said. "That I'd left, that no one, not even him, had noticed I was gone. And that I'd had more fun, learned more, done more in that shop that I'd accomplished during years stuck in the Keep."

Arya laughed, "And what did he say to that?"

"He laughed. The next day he brought Tobho Mott into the Keep, named him the King's Blacksmith, and then he made me his apprentice. I've been training with him for years now. I'm quite good, if I do say so myself. Though this," He picked up Needle and examined it again. "This is something pretty special." He handed the sword back to her and she accepted it tentatively.

"Thank you." She said.

Earlier today she'd wanted nothing more than to run, to run away from him. He was so close to her, and she'd said so much. Thinking back over the conversation in her head she still couldn't remember just what exactly had compelled her to say all those things. Normally she didn't like talking, or listening. She'd said so much in the caves and then she'd taken off. Now sitting in the godswood, hearing Gendry's stories, sitting with him, she didn't want to go off again.

His hand was warm when she took her sword from it.

"So what are you doing out here? Dinner may be over but the Feast will go on till morning."

"Your sister was worried about you," He said. "I told her I'd come find you."

"Of course she was." Arya muttered.

Sansa had probably spent the whole night complaining about her absence to Gendry, Sitting next to him, telling him about how Arya was too unladylike to sit through a proper meal, and how she never could behave right. And she'd ask him to tell her stories, but not about his days as a blacksmith, no, Sansa would be more interested in how Gendry helped King Robert handle matters of the Kingdom, the problems he himself would one day deal with when he sat on the Iron Throne. She'd ask about all the great Houses he'd met throughout the years, all the fancy parties and important guests who'd strode through the same halls they lived in now. She'd pester him with questions and bat her long eyelashes in that stupid way and let her arm rest just inches from his as they talked and talked and talked. The idea of the whole thing made Arya's stomach churn.

"So, how long did it take you to track me down?" She asked, pulling herself from the thoughts that made her queasy.

"This was the first place I checked." He shrugged.

"Really?" She asked.

"Truly." He answered. "I had a hunch about where you'd be, though I didn't expect you to be armed. I suppose I should've, your father did warn me." He said, remembering his conversation with Lord Stark the night before.

Arya's eyebrows crinkled in confusion but she shrugged it away. "Well, congratulation, you've found me." She said, standing up and smiling at the dirt rubbed in to her breeches. "And now, I think I'll go to my room. I've been down here for hours, practicing, I'm so tired." She said, as a yawn escaped her lips.

"I'll walk you up." Prince Gendry offered, rising from the ground and offering Arya a hand.

The Stark girl either didn't notice it or chose to ignore it as she lifted herself and her sword from the ground and strode right past him out of the godswood, insisting that she could walk herself.

She stopped at the entrance and turned around, "You were a terrible liar, by the way." She began. "You should really work on that." Gendry watched her, her hands fidgeting with her sword, her eyes glued to the ground in front of her. "You could practice next time I get stuck with the other girls doing their needlework. You come up with a good lie to get me out of there and we could explore again like we did today." She looked up at him.

"I could do that." He said. "I suppose I could use the practice." He smiled, feeling a small sense of accomplishment. "If you'd like."

She laughed and relaxed a little, "Anything would be better than an afternoon of tea and lemon cakes."

"That would be too cruel a fate." He said.

Arya laughed and nodded, unsure of what to do next, "Alright, well, goodnight." She said, taking off immediately.

"Goodnight." Gendry said to no one. He smiled at no one, and laughed at no one. Then he turned to the Heart Tree to the small remnants of black sot handprints left on it's bark. One small, one large. He shook his head and left, walking to his own chambers. And the Godswood was still.

 


	5. Doorways

The next day, the two Stark girls were summoned to lunch with the queen. While they prepared, Catelyn sat by and admired the differences in her two daughters.

Sansa sat at her table, combing her hair lovingly and braiding it into delicate little, bright red strands. She was a perfectionist, and loved to find the beauty in things. Sansa was quiet, and loving and obedient. The thought of lunch with the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms was an exciting prospect in her mind.

And then, there was Arya. Arya who's tough brown hair defied Catelyn's brush and sat happily only when it was free but could occasionally submit to a simply braid lining the girl's slender back. Her eyes could only roll at the prospect of a proper lunch without the discussion of swords or battles or bruises from the practice yard.

Catelyn tugged tightly on Arya's hair as she finished off her long brown braid. Arya whimpered slightly and smiled up at her mother, and Cat couldn't help but smile in return. She leant down over Arya's shoulder and spoke in her ear as she wound a strong piece of brown leather around the tip of the braid.

"You're going to behave yourself at lunch, hmm?" She said, tugging lightly on her hair. "You're going to smile, and curtsy, and you will be respectful towards the queen and whoever else she has invited to dine with you?" Cat knew the importance of this moment; that this was her first meeting with her future good-mother.

"Do I have to go?" Arya sighed.

Cat sighed in return, "Yes, Arya, you have to go. You should be pleased to be invited."

Arya's face scrunched up and contorted itself. "Why?" She asked, as if it was the most outrageous suggestion aver.

It was Sansa, from her poised perch a few feet away, who answered, "Because she's the queen of the seven kingdoms. She could have lunch with anyone, she could invite anyone to stay in her home and eat at her feasts and join her for tea and she chose us."

"I didn't chose her." Arya mumbled. Catelyn tied her hair and stepped back with a smile.

"Then you're an idiot." Sansa mumbled back.

Arya couldn't help but laugh at that. Then her thin fingers moved up to the crown of her hair and shook a few strands lose, causing Sansa to cringe and Catelyn to sigh loudly again and start the process over.

"Is it really just us two going to meet her?" Sansa asked as Cat walked them closer to the Queen's private quarters.

"I was not invited, and to my understanding Princess Myrcella is in her lessons until later this afternoon. It's just you two and the Queen."

Aray's hands reached under her skirts as she tried to scratch the itchy fabric and straighten out the breeches she'd hidden underneath.

"Why?" She asked, her nose scrunching unpleasantly. "What do we matter?" Her question was ignored.

They reached the outside and room and Catelyn wished them luck, though Arya couldn't understand all the fuss. What was the worst she could do? Choke on a lemon cake and embarrass Sansa? Forget to curtsy a third time in the presence of the great and majestical Queen?

As she stood there, with her sister, she stared at the tall doors before her. There was a scene etched into them: a forest full of lush plants with a pair of stags on one side and pair of lions on the other. The lions looked about ready to pounce.

"Please don't embarrass yourself." Sansa whispered, her eyes trained straight ahead. 

Arya turned to look at her, "It'll be fine. You worry too much."

Sansa was silent, then she straightened her shoulder even more and glanced down at her sister, "And don't embarrass me either. You may not want to be here, but I do."

The doors cracked open and she could see Queen Cersei sitting at a table in front of them, waiting expectantly.

Suddenly, Arya felt a cold chill run through the room, though the curtains didn't shake with the wind. Gendry's words rang through her head, this castle was a cold, cold place.

Arya glanced around impatiently. She was feeling anxious already and they'd only made it through the first course, with two more making the painstakingly slow trek up from the Kitchens to Cersei's private rooms in the tower. She already felt she'd memorized every detail of the room, from the view out the window to the mountain of cushions lining the corner wall that she was sure no one had ever used.

She knew that Sansa was hiccuping constantly with nerves and that when she spoke her voice came out too hurried. The Queen could probably sense Sansa's nerves as easily as Arya; and whenever Sansa spoke Cersei would place her fingers on some small place on the table, usually her wine goblet, and shift it a few inches back and forth, setting it slightly out of place before correcting it immediately. Her thin fingers stayed on the stem of her glass with a deceptively soft grip.

Aside from a few forced courtesies, Arya had yet to speak. It wasn't like anyone seemed to mind. Sansa was the one who mattered here, she was the darling little Stark girl, she was the betrothed, she was the one who wanted to be sitting here, at this table, gushing over every demure breath the Queen condescended to take. And all Arya wanted was-

"And what about you, Arya?" The Queen asked.

Arya's eyes snapped up from the place settings and flickered instead between Cersei's green eyes to Sansa's frightened blue ones.

The problem was plain before them: Arya hadn't been listening. She'd been off, once again, in her own world. What bothered her now was that The Queen knew this, and yet had chosen to bring it to all their attention. Her own mother might've called her named until she snapped back to attention and then sighed. Her father would've let her keep on dreaming. But not Queen Cersei. And why? Just because she wore a crown and she could? Because she had the power to-

The Queen smiled. "I remember being your age." She said it almost gently. "You must wish you could be just about anywhere else in the world right now."

Arya smiled and let her eyes flicker over to Sansa once more, her poor sister was pale white and her mouth hung wide open in shock as Arya nodded an eager response.

"Come here." Cersei said, standing up and leading her over to the balcony. "You'd rather be out there," She said, gesturing to King's Landing. Arya almost replied with the truth, but for once thought it better to remain silent. "Practicing in the yard, exploring the city, climbing it's walls." Cersei smiled to herself.

While Arya looked out over the city, the fire in her belly igniting and making her eager to run, Cersei watched. She already knew a little about the younger Stark girl before her arrival, most of which could be confirmed on sight: She was wild, unruly, and bore a certain resemblance, in a sentimental mind, to another Stark girl from years past. Though that wasn't the only face from the past she reminded her of. And it filled her with a strange mix of nostalgia and bitter resentment that this girl could stand before her so hopeful, and that she would get what she wanted. In fact, that it would be Cersei herself that would give it to her.

"Go." She said. Arya couldn't believe what she said until Queen Cersei placed her hands on her shoulders and repeated herself. "Go. You want to be here about as much as I do, and you've put in enough of an appearance for now." With a little push she sent Arya off towards the door.

She did her best to ignore the look of shock on her sister's face as she happily made her way to the door. She was stopped as her hand hovered over the handle. "We'll see you tonight at the banquet of course." Arya turned around and managed her best smile, it fell short as usual. But the Queen wasn't looking. Her eyes were already trained back on Sansa. Her hand was already wrapped around the stem of her glass. "Until then, your sister and I have some matters to discuss."

* * *

 

Arya ran down the halls as and hummed down the halls of the Red Keep. It was there that she ran into Gendry.

"Where are you going so fast?" He smiled as Arya skidded to a halt around him.

"I was released early from lunch early. The Queen just let me leave." She smiled.

Gendry nodded, "Well, that either means you did something very wrong or very, very right."

Arya shrugged her shoulders as they continued to walk down the corridor, "I don't think I care which it is." She said. The sun was warm and shining, the day was still just beginning. She wanted to get out there before someone realized she had yet to be wrangled in. "Let's go somewhere." She said to him. "Show me somewhere else, somewhere new."

She noticed how Gendry's smile grew. "Alright," He said. "I've got a good place, come on."

He led her back to the Great Hall, where they'd gone on their way to the Dragon Skulls, down the same dark, winding staircase to the tunnels underneath the Keep.

"I wanted to go somewhere new." Arya complained.

She felt Gendry turn to her in the darkness, though she couldn't see his face she could hear a smirk on his lips, "Have a little faith, we'll get there in a little while. It's a bit of a hike, but it's worth it."

The light hurt her eyes once she got outside. They'd been walking blindly through the tunnels for what felt like hours. Gendry was a few paces behind her and crashed right into her back, quickly mumbling an apology.

"Stupid Stag." She said. This time the name came with a smile.

"Alright," Arya admitted as she stared out at the Red Keep, it seemed like it was miles and miles away. If she lifted up to fingers she could fit it right in between and crush it in her mighty claw. Out here, wherever here was, between the sea shore and the forest, everything felt cool. It was not an overheated wasteland like the city often felt. The air smelt fresh and clean, the colours were vibrant greens and pale blues. It was another world, it was like she was somewhere else entirely, like she had escaped. "This is pretty incredible."

"What was that?" Gendry asked.

"You heard me just fine." She grumbled. She climbed along the beach as Gendry perched himself on a large rock to watch her as she slipped off her muddy old boots and waded in, regretting the skirts she wore and weight they added as they fell into the water.

When she caught him staring she rolled her eyes and kicked some water at him.

She closed her eyes and let the sound of the water rush over her ears the same way it was now running through her toes. A chill ran down her spine.

"You really want to be a blacksmith?" She asked, recalling their conversation in the godswood. Though the Red Keep was far away now, it didn't make it any easier to ignore the imposing nature of the castle. It hung over the city, it caught the eye from miles away and reminded everyone that inside sat the King of the Seven Kingdoms. And one day, it would seat Gendry.

"Yes. Though I know how unrealistic it is." He said, staring gultily at his hands as he spoke. "It's just that, I've seen my father's life, I've heard what people have to say about him and about his family. I don't want that. That's not me."

"I thought you loved your city? And your kingdom?" She asked, emphasizing the word and all the stupidity that surrounded it in her mind.

"I do. I really do." Gendry said. "But being King is so much more than that. It's politics. Conniving, evil, bullheaded politics. The people in there," He said, gesturing to the Keep, "They're crazy. My father, he ignores it all, or maybe he's just ignorant to it, I don't know. But if I wanted to do what he does, to be King, I'd have to be like him, or like them, and neither option is great."

"But it's what they want you to be?" She asked.

"Yeah, they do." He scoffed. "Them."

"And they want me to be a lady." She complained.

"You are a lady." Gendry said dumbly. The words left his lips and a pebble smacked against his head. "Ow!" He shouted.

"And you're the son of a king but you don't hear me bothering you about it." She shouted.

Gendry laughed and rubbed his head. "Actually that's exactly what I hear you doing. They want you to be a proper lady, you mean?" He clarified.

"Yeah. With long flowing skirts, and perfect posture and no personality." She said, lifting her skirts slightly as she spoke and letting the water splash in tendrils onto the sand.

"Best of luck to them." Gendry said, "You're a force to be reckoned with, that much I'm sure of."

"Thank you." Arya said, her head was ducked away but he could detect a hint of a smile. "I like to forget they exist." She whispered quietly. "As they are now. I like to remember how it used to be. I remember this time when I was young, my brother Robb used to call me a Young Pup, and he and Jon would let me follow them around the godswood while they played at hunting like my father's guardsmen. And back then mother and Sansa used to just laugh at me when I'd pretend I was a boy, and get my dresses caked in mud. Then I started getting older. They ruin everything."

Gendry nodded, "I used to come out here a lot too, also too often." He said. "They started noticing. But I miss it out here. From out here they can barely get to you."

They spent hours out there. Either rarely uttered a word. Arya played in the sand, letting it coat every inch of her wet skin. Eventually she was able to coax Gendry into the waves and dunk his head under completely. Then she lay out on the rock to dry off, to sleep in the sun like a cat, while he walked up and down the shore, pacing endlessly.

Arya smiled and twisted her head towards the sun in its new position in the sky, "I think I love it out here." She said out loud. Too loud. Her cheeks were blushing red when she turned and looked at Gendry and he was just nodding at her, a look of appreciation on his face.

"You'll love this too then." He said, nodding for her to follow before walking over to the edge of the forest. Arya tied her boots together and slung them over her shoulder, letting blades of cool grass stick to her wet feet as she followed. They walked through the woods until they reached a clearing. Then Gendry reached into the hollow of an old oak tree and pulled out a bow and quiver of arrows.

"You ever learn to shoot?" He asked as he fidgeting with the worn down string.

"A little." Arya said, taking it from his hands and puling the string around the bow till it was taut. "My brothers taught me," She pulled an arrow from the quiver and drew it in the bow, holding it tightly, as if ready to let it go, to let fly right over the trees. The she let her arm relax and passed it back to Gendry, a wicked smile on her face. "But I could always use the practice."

* * *

 

They returned later than they should have, earning a few suspicious glances from the stable hands, and those working late in kitchens, as they climbed back up to the hall.

There were voices echoing down the stairs as they climbed up and Arya heard Gendry curse under his breath. He went silent as they walked through the hall side by side. They found Lancel Lannister, drinking with two of his friends, and laughing hysterically at some joke unknown to the two of them. Their laughter slowly quelled and when they saw Gendry they nodded stiffly.

"Evening, your grace." They all said into their cups.

And they could've walked by with just that, if only Arya hadn't caught their attention.

"Well, well, well," One of the men said, getting up from the table "Could this be the famed, missing Stark girl?"

Another stumbled over drunkenly over to them.

"We thought you got swooped up by a Targaryen." Lancel joked. He seemed to be the only one who wasn't too deep in his cups. Arya looked up at him and found a cocky smirk on his face. He looked so young, and sickeningly pretty and it made her laugh to look at him and picture him trying to survive a winter in the North. His skin was smooth and pale but hers was tough as the seven hells.

"Nah," One of his companions said "This can't be the missing Stark girl. One the Northern girls was telling me about her." He leaned in real close to Arya. "They got a real special name for you, don't they?" He snarled.

Arya leaned away from him and grimaced, smelling the stench of wine on his breath.

"Come on." Gendry said, pushing past his Lannister cousin.

The end of the hall was only feet away when one words stopped them in their tracks.

"Horseface!"

Arya cursed under her breath. When she turned around Lancel had a smirk on his face as his friends were jumping excitedly around him.

"That's it!" One of them shouted. "Arya Horseface."

"And Underfoot." Lancel added, his eyes stayed glued to Gendry's back.

"Yeah, Underfoot, that one's good too."

"Playing around with the consolation prize?" Lancel asked Gendry, laughing at the look of confusion on Arya's face. She looked to Gendry, hoping for some kind of explanation, but his eyes were trained on the ground, black and small. Lancel failed to notice this and continued to taunt him. "You're no different than your father," Gendry's fingers wound into fists as Lancel sized up Arya. "Although I suppose she'd do, the castle's caves do get rather dark at night."

He turned to join in his friend's laughter and Arya contemplated taking the opportunity to kick him to the ground, rip her small knife from her boot and remind him that it was perfectly light up here, and she'd have no trouble slicing off his pretty blonde curls.

But her daydream was interrupted by Gendry, charging forward.

Arya hadn't so much as reached out to stop him before she heard the cracking sound of bones meeting and found the other two boys passed out on the floor of the hall. Gendry grabbed Lancel by the collar and walked him backwards, the young Lannister's feet danced in the air until his back met one of the pillars and his future king hoisted him higher.

"You think you're funny?" Gendry asked as Lancel squirmed and whimpered against the wall. "You think you're being clever, Lannister, picking on a lady? Our guest, the future-" He stopped himself and dropped Lancel to the floor with a thud. "Don't ever talk to her again." He said.

"Or what?"

"Or next time we train in the practice yard my hammer might just slip when you call mercy." Gendry replied.

"Is that a threat?" Lancel asked, his confidence slowly careening around now that he was out of Gendry's grip.

"I don't need to threaten you, Lancel. I don't fear you." The prince leaned over him and grabbed his collar again. "But you should be very afraid, and I'll remind you of that from time to time, if need be." The he pulled his fist back and landed two quick punches to his jaw. With the strings of his long hair splayed over his eyes, he quickly resembled the Lannister sigil: crimson and gold.

Gendry spun around, grabbed Arya's hand, and stomped out of the room.

Once they were out in the night air, Arya pulled her hand away but continued to follow him.

"Gendry!" She shouted after him. He wasn't listening. "Gendry! Gendry, I'm talking to you!"

They both stopped when they saw Tyrion Lannister, perched on the steps leading down to the yard with a book clasped in his hand.

Arya hadn't seen the youngest son of Tywin Lannister. He'd failed to appear with the Lannisters the day they'd arrived in Winterfell and he'd remained evasive for the rest of the trip, never appearing before her siblings, except Jon, when he'd up and decided to take a trip to the Wall. She was surprised to find that now she, as a girl of only ten and four, stood taller than the dwarf. Although she felt foolish for feeling so. They did call him the Imp after all.

He waddled over to her and Gendry. "My oh my, nephew, how impolite of you to stomp away and ignore young Lady Stark when she's calling after you." He said calmly.

Arya could see that Gendry was still fuming but he kept his eyes cast low to the ground as he replied to his uncle.

"I wouldn't... I didn't mean to..." He sighed. Then he lifted his eyes a small bit higher to meet his uncle's. "I was just escorting Lady Arya to her room."

Tyrion nodded and turned to face her.

"It is a pleasure to finally meet you, my lady." He said, offering her a small bow. Arya did her best to reciprocate the gesture but she herself was feeling angry and tired and as restless as Gendry. "You gave us quite the scare when you didn't appear with your family on the steps of the Red Keep."

"As did you." She replied, earning herself a cocked eyebrow and confused look from Tyrion. "When you didn't show up in Winterfell five years ago." He chuckled as he realized what she was referring to.

"Ah yes, I'm afraid, much like my young nephew here, I found myself confined to my bed on that day." He said. Gendry scoffed.

"I was deathly ill, uncle. I highly doubt that was your excuse." Gendry said, a hint of his usual smirk on his lips. Tyrion smiled at him.

"No, another type of sickness, I'm afraid." He said slyly, then he cleared his throat and straightened his short stance. "Now, take the young Lady Stark to the guest tower, I'm sure her father's already sent out his guards to be on the lookout, after her last daring escape."

The Imp offered another, awkward bow before walking away from the two of them. And then with a nod from Gendry, they took off in the opposite direction, at a much slower pace. He still wouldn't look at her though, they walked in silence, until they turned the corner. Then, reluctantly, he spoke.

"I'm sorry about-" But Gendry wasn't given the chance to finish his apology because the tip of Arya's elbow quickly came into contact with his stomach and he felt himself double over.

"Stupid stag." She said, walking on ahead of him. "I don't need you defending me."

Gendry laughed and straightened up. "Sorry my lady, only thought I was helping." He said, leaning a hand onto the nearby red brick wall, still attempting to regain his breath.

"Well I don't need you help." She huffed.

"Apologies, my lady." Gendry said with a smile, goading her on purpose. When he felt the first of her small punches landing on his chest he knew he'd succeeded.

"Do. Not. Call. Me. My. Lady." She said. Gendry laughed then reached out and grabbed her fists, holding them in his large, warm hands.

"What should I call you then?" He asked leaning in close to look her in the eye. He could see how it took no more than a second for her to go from being angry to completely caught off guard, and straight back to angry a moment later. She ripped her hands away and continued walking down the hall.

"Arya, or Arry... nothing else." She said.

"And what do they call you?" He asked behind her.

"You heard Lancel." She said.

"Arya Horseface, Arya Underfoot?" He asked, running to catch up to her.

She kept her head up and her eyes forward as she answered.

"It was Sansa's friend Jeyne who started it. When I was young. She thought she was terribly clever." She said, rolling her eyes. Then she stopped and swiveled to face him.

"I don't need to you to defend me. Put a sword in my hand and I can do it myself." She said.

"So why didn't you?" He asked She scoffed at him and continued walking.

"I'm not willing to waste my strength on another Lannister." She said.

"Another?" Gendry asked. The smirk returned once more. "So it's true then? You beat my brother senseless when he was in Winterfell?"

"Hardly." Arya said, rolling her eyes. "Joffrey has a gift for dramatic exaggeration."

Gendry nodded, "That he does." He said. He laughed at how she'd left the title off his brother's name. "You're incredible." He said it so candidly but she noticed. And then she stopped and turned around.

"Excuse me?" She said, not waiting for him to answer. "I'm not. I'm really not. That day, Nymeria, she attacked Joffrey. I had nothing to do with it."

"That's not why I said it." He stated simply. Truthfully, there were more reasons than he could count.

"I don't care why you said it." She said, her face was stern and her cheeks were red and cold.

"I know." Gendry said. They turned the corner while Arya bit her lip like she was trying to solve a complicated puzzle.

"Good." Was the word she settled on finally.

Gendry smiled and nodded, "I had a good day. I hope yours got better."

"It was good." She said.

"Good." He smiled.

"...Good." She echoed uncertainly, the smile slowly falling from her face.

She disappeared up the stairwell to her rooms. Gendry smiled to himself the whole way back to his.


	6. Chains

More ladies arrived the next day, much to Sansa's delight. Arya arrived in her sister's room in the morning and found her squealing with delight next to their lady mother.

"The Tyrells are arriving from Highgarden!" She smiled. "Who all is coming?"

"I believe Lady Olenna travels with her niece and nephew, Margaery and Ser Loras. I know not of who else they travel with but-"

"But they're sure to have a grand caravan, and a whole party of ladies and knight riding with it!" Sansa interrupted.

Catelyn smiled calmly, "Lady Olenna is known to keep her family close."

"They're coming for the King's tournament? Ser Loras will surely compete."

"The Knight of Flowers?" Arya asked, finally managing to get a word in.

"Yes." Sansa replied, her voice showed not a hint of disdain for her sister, for once. "He'll compete, as will both the Princes, and several other knights and lords coming in from the surrounding lands."

"And we'll sit and watch as we always do." Arya said tiredly, sitting opposite her mother.

"What else would you want to do?" Sansa asked. "Compete?"

"Why not? I could do it! I'd at least beat Joffrey." She muttered.

"Prince Joffrey." Catelyn corrected while Sansa shouted over her telling Arya to not be so stupid.

"Don't believe me?" Arya taunted, "Clearly you've yet to see him in the practice yard. Or did you forget what happened at Winterfell?"

Sansa thought of Lady and went quiet. "I couldn't forget that." She said.

Arya felt terrible now, and Catelyn was at a loss for words. She wrapped her arm around her eldest daughter and stroked her hair as she rested her head on her mother's shoulder. Arya, now feeling every bit as dumb as Sansa believed her to be, simply got up and walked away.

As she walked silently down the halls of the Keep, trying to shake the morning from her mind, Arya heard shouting and followed it out to the practice yard.

Below she found the newly arrived Ser Loras, his hair golden and curly, his stance perfect as he wielded his sword around Lancel Lannister's. From her perch above it was all Arya could do not to spit on that boy. Although she could smile at the purple and blue bruises now covering his jaw.

And the man who'd put them there, Gendry, he stood only a few feet away, watching the duel and talking to a few men she didn't recognize. She watched him for a moment as he examined the man's sword, and compared it to the war hammer he held is his hand. He said something that made the man laugh. He smile back in return. He only stayed a moment longer, then he was swept away by one of the gold cloaks, off to attend to some future-king duty or another.

She stayed where she was, watching as Lancel soon conceded the match to Loras and made way as Joffrey stepped in to challenge the knight.

Ser Loras looked nervous, though Arya wasn't sure why. Tales of Loras Tyrell's skill and cunning in a match reached the North frequently and Arya had longed to see him in a fight. Though not against Joffrey, who she was knew was as useless with a sword as he was with everything else.

She watched as Loras' eyes trailed nervously up to the balcony, across the way from where she was standing. Her eyes followed his and landed on who she could only assume was Margaery Tyrell. The girl stood with a trail of ladies on either side of her, all staring excitedly down into the training yard. Margaery looked down at her brother, her eyes narrowed and her smile titled coyly upwards. She nodded subtly and Loras looked away, grimacing at the ground before slowly lifting his sword.

They sparred, but Loras' skill was nothing like the stories said. His steps seemed clumsy, and his movements looked slow. Arya saw moments of hesitations, steps he didn't take, swings he missed by miles; there was a hesitancy in his movements. He was losing on purpose. Margaery watched with repressed vigour, her hands wrapped firmly around the bannister of the balcony, as she watched the fight below.

Loras dodged an advancing blow and Joffrey looked surprised. Arya's eyes trained in on everyone in the yard: the two men fighting, the three men watching, and the ladies standing above them. She scoffed, they all knew. They knew Loras was losing on purpose, they knew Joffrey couldn't win on his own. And they were all just playing along.

"It's more than just a duel in the practice yard." A voice next to her said. Arya turned and found Margaery Tyrell, with her minx like smile, standing next to her. Her smile quickly changed as Arya registered her words, turning from coy to genuine. "This is how our families will bond. The boys with their swords, and us ladies with... our own version of swordplay."

"And what would that be?" Arya asked, looking into Margaery's cool brown eyes.

Their eyes were diverted away as the clashing of swords came to a halt, followed by a loud bellow of "I yield!"

Loras had dropped his sword to the ground, his hands were raised above his head and Joffrey held his sword up to his chest arrogantly, a smug smile covering his lips.

"We have our games." Margaery said, turning away from Arya and raising her hands in applause, her ladies followed suit. The sounds of their clapping caused Joffrey to lower his sword and raise his eyes. He stared up at Margaery in awe as she spoke, "Well done, your grace. I've seen very few men best my brother over the years, but surely you were the best of them!"

Arya could barely stop her eyes from rolling back into her skull. But Joffrey ate up every word.

"Thank you, my lady!" He called up, "When I win the tournament I shall name you my Queen of Love and Beauty."

"I would be honoured to be your Queen." Was her reply.

Joffrey smile at her one last time before turning back his cousin's congratulations.

"Only some of us know how to play." Margaery said, her eyes shifting back to Arya's.

Arya knew exactly what she was doing, she was far from subtle, and she decided to respond in kind. "You play whatever kind of games you wish," She said, turning on her heels as she prepared to storm off. "I find I'm quite handy with a sword when I find a reason to use it." That would teach Margaery to try and steal the life Sansa wanted. She might not approve of Sansa's choices, but she wasn't about to let some Southron flower take them from her. That was Arya's job, after all, as her sister.

"And Prince Gendry is 'Your Grace', Joffrey is simply 'Your highness'". Arya corrected, surprising herself with her words. How did she know that? And more importantly, why in the seven hells did she care how the Tyrell girl referred to any of those stupid boys?

Margaery's smile never faltered as Arya's eyes narrowed, her head tilting up to look into the older girl's eyes.

"Oh I like you, you are marvelous!" Margaery singsonged.

Arya, now unsure of how to respond, simply scowled and walked away.

The days were growing long and boring with less and less to do. She'd begun to climb the walls, literally, as her brother Bran had always been so fond of doing in Winterfell. Though she knew her mother would hate the idea and beg her not to. At least the impending excitement of the tournament was starting to liven up the castle.

She heard voices and stopped her steps. They were ones she recognized, and so she hid. Her father and the King and the rest of the small council were adjourning from their meeting, and following in their wake, his voice ringing out clear in the conversation, was Gendry.

"All I'm saying is, so long as there is no immediate threat to the East, I propose we hold off on any course of action." He said.

Gendry stood to one side of the king while her father walked on his other side, nodding his head slowly. "A wise course of action. And you'd be wise to follow your son's advice Robert." Ned said.

The King sighed and looked up tiredly between his friend and his son. Arya, not wanting to be seen, ducked behind a pillar and continued to listened, "Of course he's right." Robert said, clapping a large hand on his son's shoulder. "He's a good boy, with a strong head on his shoulders. He's a man. And we'll listen to what he has to say. Hold off on any course of action for now, but I still want reports from the Bear on what is happening across the way."

"Of course." The Spider replied, bowing his head before scurrying off.

The council dissipated each to their own end of the castle. Until it was only Gendry and Ned left, standing outside the doors.

"You handle yourself well in there. You know what you want and how to command enough authority to achieve it, that's good." He said.

"Thank you, my lord. I just want to do what is fair, what's right by everyone." Gendry said. "And attacking some woman I've never seen, someone who is barely enough to consider a threat, that's not right for anyone. Besides, I'd like to see what threat she poses to others before showing my own hand."

"A wise move. What's even more impressive is you got your father to agree with you."

Gendry chuckled. "I've gotten used to his ways. I'm quite good at dealing with stubborn people."

Ned laughed. The sound felt unfamiliar to Arya's ear.

"Speaking of the stubborn..." He said, turning the two of them in the other direction.

They continued to talk for some time and Arya noticed how friendly they seemed together. She wondered who her father saw more of in the Prince: a young Robert, or her brother Robb? A perhaps, a bit of Jon as well.

She heard the word "Tourney" enter the conversation and her ears perked up and her feet slipped along the stone floor, failing to grasp purchase in their newfound excitement.

Ned's eyes lifted and Arya ducked away from their view, her back slamming into the pillar.

"Who's there?" He called out. "Arya?"

Arya held her breath and shut her eyes.

"Arya?" Gendry's voice rang. His footsteps slowly moved closer.

Hugging the wall, Arya tiptoed away and around the corner, speeding silently down the hall until she felt a hand tearing at the pale skin on her arm.

"Where are you running off to?" Septa Mordane crowed, Sansa and Catelyn at her side. "It's time for tea."

When she turned she found Gendry and her father standing at the other end of the hall watching her. Suddenly she was all too happy to be taken off to tea.

Margaery smiled as the Stark ladies entered the room and rushed up to greet them. Introductions were made and Margaery rushed forward, folding her arm over Sansa's.

"I've already met your lovely sister earlier this morning," She said, causing the Stark ladies to turn their heads at the unusual description of Arya. "But I'd be so delighted if you'd sit next to me for tea."

Sansa's eyes glowed with excitement and Catelyn smiled as the two girls bounced off as if they were already the best of friends. Arya remained by her mother's side. "When did you meet Lady Margaery?" She asked, eyeing Arya carefully.

"Earlier," She shrugged. "In the practice yard."

"Arya," Catelyn warned.

"What? She was there too, so were all her ladies and cousins and whatnot!" She argued.

"Yes, but unlike you she wasn't there sizing up her opponents."

 _Are you sure of that?_ Arya thought. Across the room she could see Margaery watching Sansa carefully as she gushed over life in the city. There was something in the Tyrell girl's eye, something she might've respected when placed on a more cunning opponent, but not when it seemed ready to latch onto Sansa.

"Sit." Catelyn commanded, pointing to the empty chair at the other end of the table. "Today you will practice being a lady and tonight you will attend the feast and practice again. Gods help us Arya you will behave for one day. You can't escape this place forever."

Arya grimaced and played along for a while, though she didn't do so happily. She only did so because of the tiredness in her mother's voice. She saw twenty forks in front of her and didn't know what to do with a single one. She and Catelyn both sighed. 

"I remember when they all looked at the same to me," Catelyn mused, Arya watched her mother as she spoke. "I remember the feeling of being afraid at a plat and some forks." Catelyn placed her hands on the table setting, ensuring each item sat at the perfect angle. Then her hand raised to Arya's forehead, brushing the skin there gentle with her thumb before smoothing over her hair, "I do suppose you'll never know a fear like that. And I take solace in how strong you are." 

It was a moment that shocked Arya, for the first time in quiet a while her mother didn't scold her or look tiredly, but with affection and even admiration. "I do wish that you didn't have to..." Cat continued, her hand reaching the end of Arya's braid, poised like a scorpions tale behind her back. She sighed and shook her head, "I'll teach you a trick I used as a young girl, to remember which one to use." 

Arya looked down, disappointed that their moment was over. But she looked up, compromising and promising to listen to her mother's lesson. 

At the other end of the table, secrets were being shared.

"So she doesn't know at all?" Margaery asked Sansa.

"No, my lord father feels it's not best to tell her right now," she looked down at her hands. "He always lets her do whatever suits her best because she's Arya."

"Well it's hardly in her best interest to have a marriage sprung onto her." Margaery argued. "Have you thought of telling her yourself? It might be best to hear this kind of news from a sister, someone she's to whom she feels close, connected."

"That would hardly be me." Sansa said with a laugh. "Besides, I agree, she's not ready. She's not ready for anything."

Margaery smiled and placed her hand on Sansa's "It's so nice of you to look out for her. I've three brothers, and my cousins are lovely girls but I can't count the number of times I've wished for a sister of my own," Margaery ducked down, trying to meet Sansa's eye. "Someone to understand me, confide in me, and take care of me." Sansa smiled meekly and looked away. "Not always of course," Margaery said, mending her speech. "Sisters fight, same as brothers. But we always do what's best for each other. Family is too strong a bond." She shrugged and sipped her wine. "I find that to be true, at least."

Sansa bit her lip nervously and glanced across the table. Catelyn was tucking a strand of hair behind Arya's ear while instructing her on the proper way to fold a cloth in her lap. Arya looked as though she was in pain. Sansa gulped from her glass and placed it with a shaking hand back on the table, then turned to Lady Margaery and begged for a story of Highgarden.

* * *

 

After she'd left tea, Arya spent the afternoon wandering the castle and its grounds. She'd already discovered plenty of hiding places and secret passageways, but she liked to revisit them. She knew three separate ways out of the castle grounds, one of which she was almost positive would lead her to the road North, and back home.

But she hadn't taken that road just yet.

She could't shake the conversation she'd heard between Gendry and her father. Sansa and Gendry's engagement had yet to be announce, but Arya knew it was imminent. And knowing this she'd never stopped to ask herself why Sansa had bothered to develop an interest in Joffrey, especially since the boy was such a cretin, and after hearing their conversation today she now had to wonder why Gendry had bothered with her as well.

She didn't like how she suddenly felt as though she'd been trotted out as a piece in their games. Like Sansa and Gendry were in some strange dance of attraction. Is this was almost married couples did? Pick any other person and trot them around in front of the other, making a show of "Look who I can charm! Look who I can make smile!" Was she a challenge that he had won? She'd been too open with him, too candid. She'd been too willing to become his friend. No one in King's Landing wanted friends, that much had been obvious to her from the start, they were all so horribly fake. Only Gendry was different. Gendry was like her, angry and stubborn and eager for a fight. And the night before in the Great Hall, when that pure white hot rage had taken over, she knew that feeling well, and knew that when it took her over, only the truth could spill from her lips. She thought the same was true of him. She thought they were friends. But perhaps he was just the best actor of them all. He was a Southroner, and she trusted them least of all.

The thought angered her terribly. She knew the road home, she could take it alone. They couldn't toy with her any longer.

Her hand gripped the skirt she'd been stuck in all day. Toying with me? She thought. You sound like a stupid girl. What's got you so caught up in their games? You can't blame them for what you let happen. Arya cursed herself, for thinking she had a friend, for thinking someone was different, for letting herself be fooled. No more.

Instead, she found herself hiding outside of the feast. She stood in the doorway, watching them all, studying. Their voices were all so loud with overplayed excitement.

The long table at the end of the room accommodated the royal family and their honoured guests. King Robert and the Queen sat at the centre, her parents on either side of them. Arya watched the Queen with her restrained smiled and poorly concealed contempt. She's not half so beautiful as they all sing about. Arya could barely remember the King and Queen's visit to Winterfell, but Sansa had taken the time to remind her that Queen Cersei was the most beautiful woman in the land. Arya said she didn't really care and Sansa had laughed. "Of course," her sister had jested. "Why would beauty matter to you?"

Tonight Cersei's face looked sour and her posture was so tight she must've been in pain sitting at that table, surrounded by all these people.

Now Sansa was sitting with Jeyne Poole, at Catelyn's side. Together they eyed the two princes next to Cersei and whispered about them from behind their palms. Their eyebrows wiggled with girlish suggestion. Arya rolled her eyes as she could practically hear the sound of Jeyne's envious complimenting of Sansa "Oh, I'm sure they're both already in love with you!" It made Arya sick.

Joffrey sat to Cersei's right, which Arya found curious since Gendry was the older boy, and the future king, but he sat to his brother's side and next to him was his sister Myrcella, and next to her, Tommen. The two younger Baratheon children were smiling gleefully as their Uncle Tyrion, the Imp, laughed with them. He looked as if he was telling a joke or a story, his eyes wide and his hands waving, emphasizing each word. Gendry seemed to be listening too for when Tommen and Myrcella broke out in fits of laughter, Gendry choked on the wine he'd brought to his lips. Tyrion smirked at his nephew as Joffrey took a moment from his conversation with his mother to glare at his siblings.

She would've been happy to sit there staring all night. Watching the royal family, weighing and judging them, off all on her own without having to sit among them, where everyone else could observe her. In Winterfell she's enjoyed so many feasts, sat at the lowers tables with her siblings, joking and japing, with only Sansa's disapproving eyes on her, or her mother's urgent glance, a signal to her brother's to take her up to bed.

Here, she was on display, and everyone was free to judge. She had always thought Sansa and Jeyne were bad but compared to the gossiping ladies, and lords, and lowborns, working and residing inside the Red Keep's walls, Sansa and Jeyne seemed like quiet little mice. It wasn't that their words got back to her, she could give a seven hells care for what they thought, but it was the way it affected her family that gave her pause, if only for a moment. 

Arya's ears barely registered the scraping of a chair before she felt a hand tug her am harshly, dragging her away from the safety of the shadows, further into the room. No, no no no, please no, She thought as Septa Mordane forcefully escorted her to her seat next to her sister. As she passed below the Lanniser's side of the table she scowled at Gendry, who was standing and watching her walk, "Sit down." She whispered angrily when she past by him. Her septa gripped her arm tighter. The eyes of all the ladies scattered throughout the hall were narrowed at the hem of her skirt, and the two inches of mud that caked it. Arya scoffed and flipped her skirt around gracelessly before sitting down with a huff.

"You're unbelievable." Sansa said through a forced smile, though it dropped completely when she too noticed the state of Arya's skirts. The sight of her eyes wide and her jaw dropped gave Arya more pleasure than it should have. She took a moment to flash her muddy shoes at Sansa which brought her into a full on giggle and when she looked up she found Gendry laughing with her. Arya's mouth snapped tightly shut and she stared at him for a moment, still unsure of what exactly the young prince was playing at.

Last night as she'd walked her back to her room she'd taken off her shoes and let her bare feet scrape along the the red stones. She wasn't sure what to think about Prince Gendry.

Her eyes floated up the table, Joffrey was staring at her hem too, eyes wide with disgust, and Cersei as well, although she could've sworn she saw the tiniest hint of something else in the Queen's eyes... appreciation, perhaps? Robert was drinking from his cup while her father leaned over and spoke in hushed tones to him. The King replied with a bawdy laugh, though it seemed Ned hadn't said anything remotely funny, and slammed his fist down onto the table.

"No sense in trying to tame a wolf, Ned!" He shouted, finally giving a distraction from the state of Arya's dress. "Let the feast continue on!"

She made it through the meal, now she sat in the Great Hall grateful to be the observer and not the observed. Sansa and several other ladies were laughing and dancing in the middle of the hall with a few knights and lords. Prince Gendry was dancing with his sister, while Lady Margaery and her friends cooed and giggled around little Tommen. Her father sat with his hand intertwined with Cat's. She smiled at her older daughter while he spoke with Lord Tyrion, who sat to his right.

Down on the lower levels, more Lannisters drank and laugh. Arya watched Lancel grimace as he lifted his cup to his mouth.

Though Arya saw them all she failed to notice the two standing behind her.

"I want her gone." Cersei said through gritted teeth, forcing a grimace to appear as a smile. It was a skill that had begun to fade.

"You want them all gone." Jaime said, shifting away from her, but only slightly.

They stood, half hidden by a column a the far end of the room. They both kept shifting back and forth, between uncomfortably close and not close enough.

Cersei turned to him, her eyes narrowed. "We both do."

Jaime sighed and narrowed his eyes at Robert, already half asleep, some girl with bright red cheeks and a jug of wine trying to escape his grasp as he pulled her onto his lap. He imagined Cersei there instead, imagined all the stories they'd shared about her relationship with the king. His teeth gritted. "Where do we start?"

Cersei's gaze followed his. "That comes later." She said. "First, I want her gone."

Jaime moved behind Cersei and stared over her shoulder at the back of the Stark girl's head. "Her? She's hardly a threat."

"Of course she's a threat." Cersei spat back at him. "She's not like her 'darling sister' Sansa." She said with mock-admiration. "She can't be moulded, guided... she can't be manipulated. But more importantly," She said, turning to the Tyrell's table. "I want her gone." Margaery sat there smiling and laughing, now joined by Myrcella and Sansa. "She's awful. She and that fossil of a grandmother of hers are planning something. She's an adversary, Arya is a little wilding in the making..."

"And the older Stark girl? What of Sansa?" Jaime asked.

"She can stay. I can control her."

"And how do you plan to keep one Stark girl and not the other?" Jaime challenged.

"Please, Arya's already halfway out of the Capital. Just a few more pushes and she'll be gone."

"And the Tyrells?"

Cersei contemplated the Tyrell house for a moment. Margaery, all smiles and doting glances was more clever than she let on. And Olenna Redwyne, who was clever and let everyone know it, was staring right at them, a minx like smile plastered on her ageing lips.

"Perhaps they can be pacified." She decided. Her eyes turned quickly to Gendry, her little mutant spawn. "I'll see if one problem can't solve another."

"What is going on in that head of yours?" Jaimed asked he moved closer and slid his hand across the flat of her stomach, letting it fall lower and lower.

"What are you doing?" Cersei hissed. "Not here."

His hand shot away immediately as Cersei searched the room for prying eyes. Olenna's gaze was thankfully now otherwise engaged.

"Tomorrow morning." She whispered to him and then straightened her gowns and herself and returned to the high table, next to Catelyn Stark, who smiled at her pleasantly and began to speak.

Jaime watched the Star girl another moment. Watched as she too scoped out the area around her, only to find no one was watching. Then she slid her chair back and turned. She walked right past him, unaware of his presence or probably just not caring about it, and out of the hall. Though one person did notice.

Prince Gendry said proper goodbyes and smiled diligently until he had turned away from the hall, then his smiled disappeared into a look of true determination. When he walked past Jaime, the Kingslayer couldn't help but call out.

"Evening, you Grace." Gendry jumped slightly and turned to face his uncle. "Off to escort Lady Arya to her chambers for the night? She didn't look like she was in need of assistance but it's kind of you to offer, nephew."

The young man smiled and laughed.

"It's true." He said. "She most likely doesn't need the assistance. Her sense of direction is quite good, which leads me to believe without some help she'll find her way all too well and be halfway to Winterfell by the time my father sobers up."

"Well," Jaime said. "We can't have that."

Gendry's smile grew, "No, we really can't."

"I suppose I'll help your search." He said. Gendry's smile faltered for a moment, and Jaime loved every moment of it as they searched the halls for the wild little Stark girl who would evade them until the sun began to appear over the sea.

Safe in bed, Arya had spent the night on the roof of the Keep, until a yawn and an aching tiredness in her limbs forced her to the coziness of her chambers.

She kept running through moments in her mind.

Sansa was here to marry Gendry. Arya would become his good-sister, their babies would be her nieces and nephews. She and Joffrey would be family. Arya groaned. Gods save them all if she had to live in a world in which Joffrey Baratheon was her good-brother but Jon Snow was just a bastard on a Wall.

Still she couldn't shake the confusion of the night before, in the Great Hall, with Gendry and his cousins. So quick to jump to her defence, not that she'd needed him to. She supposed that's just what he did for family, after all that's what she would become one day, soon. It's how she would defend Jon, should someone call him a bastard with her around, it's how she would defend Bran if anyone called him a cripple. She was fiercely loyal to her family and she could respect any one who was too.

Then why'd he fight his own family for you, some girl who he barely knows?

She pushed that thought aside only to let a new one drift into her mind...

Consolation prize.

What in the seven hells did Lancel mean by calling her that? It was obvious enough to her that given the choice between herself and Sansa, Sansa was the ideal. But Arya was no one's prize. She was not something to be won, and unlike Margaery Tyrell she was not anyone's Queen of Love and Beauty. She was something else entirely, and they would see that soon.


	7. A Little Hell

Prince Tommen had taken ill.

Cersei took to his chambers early the next morning, prepared to sit by her youngest son's bedside until he felt better. She burst into his room, Jaime by her side, only to find Lady Stark sitting diligently at her son's side, a pile of strange needlework in her lap.

Cersei could barely register the sight before Cat started to speak.

"I sat at my son's bedside and made this gift for the seven to watch over Bran as he healed, after his accident and one day he awoke. Although a part of him will never return. I hope it will bring more luck to your son."

Jaime's eyes shifted away as Cersei stepped forwards, "How kind of you, Lady Stark. But I do wonder if my brother and I might have a moment alone with my son." She said, waving her arm to the open door.

Catelyn nodded with tight lips and left her craft behind as she took to the door. Jaime shut it behind her as she left.

"You don't suppose she's figured it out?" He said, his voice doubting what he already knew to be impossible.

Cersei ignored him, throwing he needlework to the ground and taken the seat beside Tommen, holding his hand tightly in her own.

"Don't be a fool. Catelyn Stark is not that cunning, and certainly not that coy. If she knew, you and I would be before my husband on our knees being told to beg for mercy, not here, by his side." She stroked Tommen's hair gently before return her cold eyes to Jaime's. "She knows nothing."

"You don't think this was her work?" He asked.

Tommen groaned and rolled slowly towards his mother. Cersei paused her ministrations.

"No I think this was the work of a young boy with a curiosity for wine and an obliging older brother." She said.

"Or perhaps the servants." Jaime pondered. "Unless you think it was Joff?"

"It was Gendry." Cersei said, sure of her answer.

"Cersei." Jaime warned, placing a warm hand on her shoulder.

She recoiled, "Don't Jaime, just don't." She stood, her hands shaking with a sudden rage as she began to pace along Tommen's bedside. "You've never hated him as I have!" Jaime opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off. "Don't deny it. Don't lie to me. You like the boy, I know you do. Tyrion loves him as if he were his own, he might as well be, gods know he is no son of mine."

Jaime sighed as the silence fell between. "Aren't we here to discuss other matters? Do we not have more important things to worry about?"

Cersie scoffed at that, "I'd hardly say I'm worried. We send the young wolf-girl on her way, which shouldn't take long now. It's the Tyrell girl who troubles me. She's got the cunning of Arya and the grace of Sansa. She knows what she's doing, she knows who to manipulate, and how. And she's got that vile bitch of grandmother who's determined to get her hands on a crown."

"And you hardly plan on giving her one." Jaime said.

"On the contrary... let her have it. With one Stark gone, that leaves a son without a betrothed."

"It also leaves Sansa. How do you plan to appease the Stark into following through on one wedding after breaking off another."

Cersei shook her head, "We can hardly be held responsible for Arya Stark's actions. Lord knows no force on earth has been able to reign her in yet. Besides, no one held Lyanna Stark culpable for her actions, why should her double be any different. Perhaps the same fate will befall this one. Another Stark swooped away by dragons."

"Stranger things have happened."

There was a light knock on the door and a mane of flowing reddish-brown locks appeared. Margaery Tyrell entered with a sweep of her gown.

"I came to check on our little prince as soon as I heard." She said, seeming to float across the floor, she paused at the foot of his bed. "How is he, Your Grace?"

"Resting nicely, I'm told." Cersei said, her eyes flicking from the young girl to her brother. "Jaime leave us, Lady Tyrell and I have much to discuss."

* * *

In another part of the castle, an empty room took a beating as Arya practiced with Needle.

"A girl is not supposed to practice with swords."

She swivelled around and found a man standing in her doorway. Curly black hair, stout build, he too held a sword in his hand. Arya lowered hers, slightly, and watched him carefully.

"I'm not a girl." She said.

"No, you're not." The man said, eyeing her carefully. "Right now, you are water."

Her brow crinkled. The man threw a large sword, made of wood, right at her. Together they watched as it landed with a hollow, loud clang on the floor. It look heavy, not slender and thin like her Needle. Her eyes snapped up and met the man's.

"Or perhaps not quite, but you soon will be." He stepped back, his sword making a fluid sweeping motion as he bowed to her. "I am Syrio Forel, your new dancing instructor."

She picked up the wooden sword, it was heavy, and bowed in return.

She smiled and thanked the old gods and the new, and her father, of course, for being the only one to know that slashing a sword until she fingers blistered and her forehead was dotted with sweat, would be the only thing in this place to truly make her calm.

* * *

Next to visit young Tommen was a dutiful Sansa. But there was no one left in the young prince's room when she arrived. She had been praying in the Sept in the morning, spent some time with Princess Marcella and Jeyne for tea, then gone to the Godswood, feeling homesick for the first time since they'd set out on the King's Road. She kneeled before the weir wood and said a small prayer for Prince Tommen there too. Though the Seven were well set in her heart, she would always hold a sentimental place there for the old gods too.

She took a seat at his bedside and found her mother's handiwork discarded a few feet away. She picked it up and continued it on, watching the young prince sleep soundly as she worked, happy to see the calm rise and fall of his blanket covered chest as her fingers sewed a steady rhythm. Already in her short time she'd grown attached to the Royal Family, especially Myrcella and Tommen.

The older princes were a given, unlike Arya, Sansa knew her duty and was preparing herself to follow it through, she would be with one of them one day and she must find something amiable in each of them that she could cling to and learn to call family. And between Gendry's natural strength in leadership, his kindness, and the way Joffrey had charmed her all those years ago, it hadn't been hard to find them more than suitable, whichever should become her husband.

But she hadn't expected to fall so in love with the other two. She'd hoped they could be kind to one another, maybe even friends. Joff she knew from Winterfell, and Gendry had welcomed them with such open, such strong, arms, but the younger two she'd never encountered before. To her delight Myrcella was kind and smart and beautiful, every bit of Cersei could be found in her. Her cheeks were always rosy and warm, her smile lit the whole banquet hall and her countenance wafted sincerity. And Prince Tommen, so gentle, so kind, so sweet, with his little cat and the way he would follow his oldest brother around, or would cling to Myrcella's arm. One day he'd grabbed Sansa's accidentally and after noticing his mistake had not immediately pulled away but instead stayed put, citing the softness of the sleeve of Sansa's dress.

Yes, she'd grown attached to them. And them to her as well, she hoped. No, she knew. She could tell. And it filled her with great relief and satisfaction to know that in the place she'd always wanted to be, she did in fact belong.

"I could've sworn you were your lady mother."

Sansa whipped around and found Margaery Tyrell observing her from the doorway. She stepped further into the room.

"You two look so very alike, it's remarkable."

"thank you, Lady Tyrell." Sansa said, bowing her eyes as the older girl approached.

She placed a hand under Sansa's chin and lifted her eyes up, "You can call me Margaery," She smiled sweetly, "And I will call you Sansa, and we shall be great friends."

Sansa nodded eagerly and Margaery took this as her cue to sit on the edge of Tommen's bed, facing Sansa with her bright, ambitious eyes.

"I've spent the morning talking with our Queen. She tells me you've become quite enamoured of her son." She smiled mischievously but Sansa could not let her mind drift passed the first part of the sentence.

"You and the Queen spoke of... me?" She stuttered in disbelief.

Margaery laughed, "Well, of course! She adores you!" She patted Sansa's knee gently. "She might not show it, she must remain so regal, so proper, but she's fond of you. I know it. And besides, you are to be her good-daughter one day. And soon, from what I hear."

Sansa's eyes snapped to the door and back to Margaery, who playfully touched Sansa's knee while she laughed.

"Oh half the castle knows at this point, Sansa. You can't keep a secret very long in the Red Keep. It's a miracle your sister still doesn't know."

"Arya is clueless to anything she doesn't want to know." Sansa sighed. "She likes swords, and climbing walls, and tattering her skirts and anything else simply doesn't interest her. So she blocks it out."  _And sometimes that includes me,_  the thought drifted effortlessly into her mind, making her sad once again.

"Well, she can't escape her fate forever." Margaery sympathized. She seemed to contemplate it for a moment. "Though, perhaps she can... with our help."

"We couldn't do anything." She said, hoping to be proven wrong. "What could we possibly do?"

"My darling, there is plenty. Are we not Southron women with great influence and power?" Sansa wavered uncertainly, but Margaery held fast. "I know I am, and I think you and I are quite alike. Therefore you must be too. You will be." She winked and added, "Quite soon."

Sansa's heart sprung and a giddy laugh escaped her lips. But her mind was stuck on Arya: Arya lying on her bed looking so forlorn, Arya with her skirts caked in mud and her complete indifference, Arya who had made no new friends and had found no love in this city, Arya wishing to visit Jon at the Wall, to return home. She wished she could make that happen. And the hope in Margaery's voice made her believe it could.

The two girl's leaned in close around the bedside of the little prince, conspiring together with whispers and giggles and Sansa's heart flew to know that someone else in King's Landing cared, someone else was there for her, and once again she knew that this is where she belonged.

* * *

Sweaty and tired, arms aching with the weight of Syrio Forel's stupid wooden sword, Arya danced through the halls with Needle feeling light as air in her hand. She practiced her new steps all the way through the castle. The whole place had been in a hush all day. The men were on about their usual business, the women were all praying for Prince Tommen, and the servants were all doing the actual work.

She repeated Syrio's words back to herself as she practiced through the halls.

"Swift as a deer." She whispered, jumping from toe to toe, "Quiet as a shadow." She repeated all his little phrases and sayings, "Fear cuts deeper than swords." Until they found a steady rhythm in her mind, and then everything felt connected. Her mind, her feet, the sword in her hand, the beat of her heart. She could actually hear the rhythm, pounding through her ears, it sounded... metallic.

She paused a moment and followed the sound through the corridor, moving silently towards the light and heat.

She nudged the door open slightly and found Prince Gendry wiring tirelessly in his small forge. The way he beat his hammer against the white hot metal, she could see the way every muscle in his body worked. He looked angry. She stepped further into the room, to get a better view, and as she opened the door further it scraped along the floor. Gendry's back straightened and he turned around, seeming unsurprised that she stood before him.

"Pretending to be a blacksmith again?" She asked, perching herself on a nearby work table.

Gendry huffed and turned back around, continuing his work with a grunt. He managed to squeeze out a few words between the pounding noises of his hammer, "Everyone else is pretending to be something," He said. "Why shouldn't I?" He turned to her again, pointing the rough edge of the hammer at her. "And what are you pretending to be?"

"Calm as still water." She recited. "Maybe you should try it."

He scoffed, "I think you need to try it more. I come here when I want to be alone. When I feel like hitting someone, some _ones_ , but I can't. Here I can at least hit something, make something, instead of,"

"Beating Lannisters?" She offered.

He gave a half-hearted chuckle. "Yeah, instead of beating Lannisters." He thrust the red-hot sword into a nearby bucket of water, sending smoke through the room that only made it warmer. But it seemed to diffuse the tension some, and when the smoke cleared Gendry looked more relaxed.

"You ran off fast yesterday." He said. He was calm Gendry now, and she regretted giving him her advice. But she supposed since he had the upper hand in this particular conversation, he would get to be the calm one. Her palms were sweating from the heat of the room.

"I'm always running off somewhere fast." She said.

"I've noticed." He smirked at her.

 _Look at him,_  she thought,  _so smug now that he has the upper hand._  But she knew how to remedy that, because she knew how he ticked. She knew that he was like her: he'd spoken the truth in the heat of the moment and now was counting on her shrugging it off and leaving it behind, as if she ever would.

"I've noticed things too." She said.

His smile grew, "What have you been noticing?"

"I've noticed that people aren't telling me things." She said. "What did Lancel mean by consolation prize? And what were you and my father discussing yesterday after the Small Council? And what-"

"You ask a lot of questions." He said, cutting her off and returning to work. Any hint of smugness was long gone.

"That's because no one will tell me anything." She said.

"Hmm." Was his only reply.

"Gendry." She said, in a stern voice that made her think of her Lady Mother's. She moved from her perch on the work table and stood next to him, the heat from the forge wafting over her and wrapping around her. "Gendry." She repeated to make him look at her. She stood right next to him, staring up at his face, so determined to not acknowledge her.

Defeated, he turned away from her and sighed, "You're a pain in my ass, you know that?"

"That's not very princely." She replied.

"That's rich coming from you." He said with a snort.

"Gendry."

He closed his eyes and breathed deep. Stubborn, impatient, Gendry. She didn't know what she was expecting. Answers? That would be a laugh. No one ever gave her answers. Sansa never answered as to why it was so important for a lady to laugh at lord's jokes, even when they weren't funny. Her mother never answered her as to why Jon had to go to the Wall, and her father would never tell her why she couldn't go too. Bran never said why he stopped playing in the yard with her. Robb and Theon could never articulate why she could no longer join them on their hunts. And Jory wouldn't say why it was suddenly better for her to stay inside the walls of Winterfell than to roam freely out in the woods like the wolves.

And then, surprisingly, he answered.

Not all at once. He answered like a bull: stubborn, one begrudging step at a time, with half-word answers like he didn't want to share.

"Sansa's going to be engaged." he said.

"Yes."

"And soon."

"So I'm told."

"And you're her sister." He added.

"Again, so I'm told."

"And she's your sister."

"This is really quite insightful, thank you."

And then, like a bull, he charged all at once.

"Ah come on, Arry! It's not that hard to figure out what Lancel was saying!" He threw the hammer from his hand and let it skid along the work table with a clang. "And you're here in King's Landing. And everyone knows why Sansa's here. It's not some grand secret. It's a badly kept one. People think. They connect dots. They-" He turned to find a quizzical look on her face. The prince let out a gust of air from his lungs and he was calm again. "Can you honestly tell me you haven't thought that maybe your parents brought you here to make a match for you too?"

"No!" She said with a laugh. "They brought me here because if they left me in the North I'd have ran to the Wall faster than you can say direwolf."

"Fine. Then you don't think other people have thought of it? You're from a prominent family, your father is Warden of the North, now Hand of the King... there are plenty of reasons. You'd make a nice Lady, on paper at least, to some Lord, if he'd have ya."

"But I'm not a Lady!" She argued.

"Aye, but on paper you are. And that's where it matters to the rest of them."

She growled, low and guttural. "Then I'll burn all the papers!" She yelled. Silence fell between them and was quickly broken by their laughter.

"Good luck with that. Knowing you, you'd end up burning down the whole city." He said with a smile. His hands returned to his work table and began straightening his tools. "That's what he meant. Second to be matched, promised to no one, it's second place in his mind."

"Well those are just facts." She said simply. "I  _am_ promised to no one. I prefer it that way. Besides what do I care what goes on in Lancel Lannister's head?"

"I don't know why you would but you do," He said. He pulled the apron over his head and stared at her, knowing he spoke the truth. "Why else would you come here asking me about it?"

Arya bit her lip and sent her eyes to the ground. "You care too. Why else would you attack him like that?"

"He was rude to you." He said, busying himself again with his work.

"So? He's your family."

"Lancel Lannister is hardly my family." he said, placing the apron on it's hook. "Myrcella is my family, and Uncle Tyrion, my father, my Uncle Jaime too on occasion... the people who mean the most to me are my family. Like Tommen for instant. He's sick right now. I'm off to check on him. Care to walk with me?"

"Fine." She said, counting on her fingers all the names absent from his list.

Out in the hall the mid-morning light made her eyes hurt.

"You're not my friend, Arya." He continued. "I mean... you're not just my friend. You're also my family, or you will be one day. And I'll be your King. We're tied together. I've got a duty to you, and I wanted to defend you, and besides Lancel was being an ass. The way he was talking about you..."

"Why do you care?" Arya asked him. "So much, I mean."

"The better question is why do you care so little?" He countered. "He was insulting you, demeaning you."

"His words don't mean anything. You said so yourself, he doesn't matter." She said.

"No, but you do!" He shouted. "You matter to me, Arya."

"Because we're friends?" She asked. There was a lump in her throat she was struggling to swallow down.

He sighed, "Yes, because we're friends." He pulled open the door to Prince Tommen's room and found Margaery and Sansa sitting by his bedside, listening to Qyburn speak of the boy's small improvements. When they noticed the older prince in the doorway they both rose to attention.

"Your Grace," Margaery said, her skirts swept around her with each step and she smiled demurely as she spoke. "We were just speaking of the tournament, and lamenting how it seems our young Prince Tommen won't be able to attend."

"Which events will you be competing in, your Grace?" Sansa asked gently as Margaery prompted her forward.

"All that's not quite sorted yet." He said. "I suppose the melee, the sword fight-"

"Not the joust, your Grace?" Margaery asked.

"I'm not one for the joust, I'm afraid." He said, seeming as interested in the conversation as Prince Tommen. Both ladies had yet to acknowledge Arya.

"You're sure to win in whichever events you chose, your Grace." Sansa said, her cheeks were rosy red.

Gendry's smile was sincere, the eldest Stark sister was a kind girl, and gentle too. The opposite of her sister. And he liked her quite a bit too, as he hoped to one day be her good-brother. It was the Tyrell girl who made him uneasy. House Tyrell, Growing Strong with the rose blazing proudly across their banner, and all its throne hidden underneath pretty petals.

"You're too kind, Lady Sansa. I hear you've spent the day by my brother's side as well, ensuring he was well taken care of. Thank you."

The girl looked startled by his gratitude. "Of course, your Grace. I-I..."

Margaaery saw her friend's struggle and stepped in to aid her, "Sansa's been so attentive, your Grace, and so worried. There's no one better in the Capital to be taking care of our little Prince."

 _Perhaps the Grand Maester_ , Arya thought, but she held her tongue, for once, for Sansa.

"I know my brothers and sister have taken quite a liking to her. Starks and Baratheons  _do_ seem to mix well together." He smiled to himself, and looked over his shoulder to the young Stark girl behind him.

"We'll leave you now," Margaery said. "To give you time with your brother."

"You have my appreciation." Gendry said as the girls swished their skirts and brushed past him.

He turned and saw their suggestive smiles as they left the room.

He went to his brother's side. He look pale, and tired, his breathing sounded shallow. There was medicine and tea and some opaque black liquid on his bedside table. He brushed his brother's short blonde curls away from his eyes.

Arya was moving along the outskirts. Running her fingers along the furniture and through the yellow silk drapes. She stopped when she reached the bed. The Prince looked so small as he lay still in there. Beads of cold sweat along his forehead. He reminded her of Bran, when no one thought he would wake up. When he lay in his bed for months while their Lady Mother sat by his side, refusing to leave. And when he woke he couldn't walk again.

After only a few months of travelling the King's Road Bran must've grown so much, and she wouldn't see him for gods know how long. And she will have grown too.

Though for now she was still too small. Not yet a lady, she still looked like a little boy, not much bigger than Prince Tommen.

Gendry had taken a seat next to his brother's bed.

"Tomorrow the Tournament will begin." He sighed. "My brother wanted to compete this year. He saw me last year and ever since then everyday he goes to the practice yard. The Queen would never allow him to train but I think it's better he be prepared. Though he doesn't quite take to the war hammer. I forged him a sword, and armour, and would train with him in the stables whenever he asked. Now it's unlikely he will even get to watch."

"Perhaps he'll wake up tomorrow feeling as good as new." Arya suggested. Her voice was flat instead of hopeful, Gendry had heard of her brother's accident. And how his eyes opened one day but his legs would not move.

"Perhaps." Gendry sighed.

"And perhaps he is only faking, to avoid his lessons." She joked. "It's what I would do."

"Just to avoid your lessons?" He asked.

"Absolutely." She said, she opened the drawers next to Tommen's bed and began riffling through the various books and toys inside before moving to the trunk of his clothes. She found the armour Gendry had made him hidden inside. She pulled out the chest plate and examined it. She saw her reflection in it and smiled.

"Thoughts?" he asked.

"It's good work." She said turning it over in her hands again and again. "Very good."

"That's because I never faked illness to skip my lessons."

Arya scrunched her nose and rolled her eyes. "Of course you didn't, your Grace." Her tone was mocking of the girl's from before.

"I tried to skip all of mine. I had a new lie every time. Sickness, broken arm, sprained ankle. Sometimes I'd just disappear over the walls of Winterfell in the morning, they'd spend all day trying to find me and when I'd return I'd go hide in the Godswood. One time I convinced Septa Mordane I was studying with my mother and my mother that I was studying with the Septa. They didn't figure that trick out for days."

"Well, you're quite deceitful aren't you?" Gendry said, smiling at the reflection of her in the armour.

She put the piece back in the trunk and gently closed the lid.

"Oh yes," She said. "I'm full of all kinds of trickery."


	8. From the Mouth of an Injured Head

In the morning, she snuck out of her room before she could be told to braid her hair or put on a dress. She walked through the Red Keep unnoticed in her breeches with her hair tucked up under a cap. She went through the passages Gendry had shown her and used a few shortcuts of her own that she would tell him about later. She liked that they shared this little thing, of hiding out and escaping, and of being things they weren't. He'd told her that Queen Cersei didn't want her children leaving the castle grounds, but for someone who apparently wanted to keep her children close she didn't seem to spend much time seeing after them. Perhaps that's just how things were in the South.

But even so, everyone inside the Keep's walls loved the older prince. Creeping alongside the castle's walls Arya heard things. She knew he spent his mornings at his father's side in the Throne Room, or learning from meetings with Small Council, she knew he cared about this city, and all the others covering the Seven Kingdoms.

Now, he was in the Forge. She could hear him hammering away as she approached the small room, pushed off to the side of the Gold Cloak's barracks.

She walked in and saw his concentration on the fire. His shirt was stuck to his skin and there were stains of sweat running down his back. She smiled and hoisted herself up onto the anvil to watch him work. He didn't notice her at first, he was working by the fire and she wasn't sure how he could stand it. She could feel sweat dripping down her neck and she'd only been inside for a few minutes.

He turned around and still failed to notice her. As he began hammering away she noticed how the muscles in his arms twitched and bulged with every movement. He was strong.

He moved passed her to drop the half-made sword into a bucket of cold water and as the metal hissed his eyes landed on her. He jumped and dropped the hammer to the ground.

"Seven hells, Arry." He said while she chuckled.

"Took you long enough." She said.

"How long have you been sitting there?" He asked.

She shrugged and hopped down from the anvil. "Only a few minutes."

Gendry watched her as she inspected the wall of swords, helms, and hammers at the far end of the forge.

"You made all these?" She asked, picking up a bull's head helm and placing it on her head. It was too large and shifted to an odd angle.

"Most of them." He answered, chuckling at the sight of her. "That was the first thing I ever made, actually."

She inspected it carefully, nodding her head before passing it to him.

"It's quite good." She said. He believed it was the first time he'd managed to earn a compliment from her.

"Thank you, my lady." He said, placing the helm on her head again.

"Don't call me that." She pulled it off and chucked it at him, laughing as he fumbled to catch it.

He was distracted, awkwardly shifting the helm and the hammer between his hands, but he could hear the silver sing of the sword as she plucked it off the wall and let it slice through the air.

"And what about this?" She asked, her eyes following the steel as it glowed from the light of the fire.

He placed the helm on an anvil and shrugged at her, "Just an average sword. Not my best work."

"Should we test that?" She asked pointing it at him. She had a cocky smile on her face as she angled her body sideways to his.

"Arya." He warned.

"What?" She asked innocently.

He cleared his throat, "That would not be wise, my lady."

She lunged forward and carefully poked the leather of his apron with the tip of the sword.

"I told you not to call me my lady." She teased.

He didn't reply, only shook his head and went about cleaning up his work. She continued to sway and swing the sword and he watched her out of the corner of his eye, both making sure she didn't fumble and hurt herself and also to estimate her ability.

She was actually quite good, although he knew if he let her know it she would be smug about the compliment. Besides, he had a feeling she was already well aware of her skill.

"I have a teacher you know," She said. "My brother Jon, he gave me a sword of my own, before he left for the Wall and once my father found out he found someone to teach me how to use it."

She stepped back and forth, her movements slow and fluid, but quick and sharp when she needed them to be. She continued to speak but her concentration was so great she seemed like she was talking only to herself, hardly realizing him to be in the room anymore.

"This is the Bravossi style, called Water Dancing. Syrio says I've shown great improvement even though I've only been learning from him for a few months."

Her arm hung limply at her side and for a moment she just stared at him, and waited.

"Yes?" He asked as he continued to clean up.

"Well, aren't we going to practice?" She asked.

"Not sure where you got that idea, my lady." He said.

"I told you not to call me that,  _your Grace."_ She said. She seemed to be truly annoyed too and Gendry feared she might leave him then, when they're conversation was only just starting. But instead she just wandered around the shop, aimlessly playing with the weapons decorating the walls. "I used to practice everyday," She continued, "With my brothers. Not Jon, he was gone by then. But Bran would let me practice with him, before his fall, or Robb and Theon, but not very often, sometimes the village boys would practice with wooden swords but... that didn't end well. Then suddenly I was too old, and I was supposed to be a lady." She rolled her eyes.

Gendry had been following closely behind her and when she suddenly swung around, bring the sword in her hand in a unintentional arch aimed at his torso, he jumped backwards. She cupped a hand over her mouth to stifle a giggle and he smirked thinking that it was the most ladylike moment he'd yet to see from Arya Stark.

"The point is," She said "That I've had no one good to practice with for ages."

Gendry cleared his throat, "I'm afraid I'm no good with a sword, my-" She edged closer, the tip of the sword shining eagerly in his direction "Arya." He amended, not minding the sound of it.

She considered this for a moment then shrugged, "That's fine, you can use your warhammer then."

He began to laugh but she glared at him and that shut him up.

"A warhammer is very different from a sword, Arya, it doesn't just cut you and leave you bleeding, it breaks you from the inside, smashes you and leaves you there, crushed."

"Only if you can catch me." She countered, wiggling her eyebrows.

"I'm bigger than you," He said, and he did tower over her terribly. "And this room is small. It wouldn't be hard for me to do it."

But Arya's attention was lost already. Her hand was ghosting over a dozen other swords along the wall until she found one she liked better. She plucked it from it's spot and flipped it over a couple times in her hand. Her movements paused and Gendry moved closer, still cautious of the fact that she might turn around swinging again.

"Do what?" She asked, twisting around slowly, the sword still at her side.

This time it was her turn to jump away. She turned and found Gendry just inches away, looking down at her with those stupid blue eyes.

"Crush you completely." He said, his voice a strange mix of caution and something else.

She was about to push him away, call him a stupid bull, anything to get away from the ridiculous heat of the forge radiating off of him. Then he reached past her and pulled a sword off the wall and walked away, gripping it in his hand to get the feel of it just right.

"What are you doing?" Arya asked.

"Something tells me if you want to practice, nothing I say will stop you, so it's best for me to be armed when you start swinging."

She chuckled as he fumbled with the sword, and at how his movements slowed to halt when he tried to speak.

"That's very true." She said. "But what about your hammer?" She asked.

"I use the warhammer to fight, and to win, and to tear down my enemies." He said. "You're not my enemy, so why would I try to beat you?"

"So you're just going to let me win?" She asked, looking unimpressed.

"It's practice, as it turns out I'll be practicing just as much as you."

"If not more." She muttered, stepping into the centre of the room to meet him.

"What was that?" He asked.

"Nothing." She smiled, lining her sword up with his.

They smiled at each other, both with a menacing glint in their eye, as they prepared to duel. Arya loved this moment, when the two sword slid against each other like the hiss of a snake. The moment before the world turned into only foot patterns and stances and the sweet headache that could only come from the song of metal clashing.

She pulled her arm back and swung, eager to practice now that she had someone willing and ready. A friend.

* * *

Sweaty and tired, and still huffing and puffing from the hours of swordplay with the Prince, Arya skipped happily back to her room.

For the first time in King's Landing, she was truly smiling. And her family took notice.

"Arya." Sansa gasped. She and their mother were once again in her room, braiding her hair so it shined down her back.

"I haven't seen you smile like that since we left home." Cat said with a genuine smile.

"The Tourney starts this week," She said. "And I've had a good morning."

"Where did you run off to?" Her mother asked. "We didn't even see you at breakfast."

"I was training."

"In the yard?" She asked.

"No."

"With that dancing master of yours?" Sansa asked, scrunching her nose at the mention of Syrio Forel.

"No." Arya said. "With Gendry. In the Forge."

Her sister's face went pale.

"Arya," Their eyes all turned to find Ned standing in the doorway, staring at his youngest daughter, her sweat stained clothes and knotted hair. "Are you joining Sansa and I on our walk?"

Arya opened her mouth to answer in affirmation.

"Only once she changes out of these filthy clothes." Cat said, cutting her off.

Arya stomped towards the door, her mother called out after her telling her to wear the grey dress in the bottom of her trunk.

"Sansa, why don't you go find Princess Myrcella?" Cat suggested. "Perhaps she would like you to accompany her. to tea"

With a nervous quiver on her lip, Sansa left the room, placing a soft kiss on her father's cheek as she left.

Ned smiled at her and walked further into the room.

"Ned, Arya needs to be told of what we've planned for her here."

His face fell, "Why do we need to do that? She's finally getting used to being in the Capital. This is the first morning she hasn't woken up and gone flying out of the castle for a change. We can wait. We have time."

"Ned, Sansa's made a choice. She chose Gendry." She said.

"Gendry chose Arya." Ned pointed out carefully.

"And perhaps if Arya were truly ready to be married, or at the very least aware of it, he could make that claim. But she's still too much of a child to even be told what her fate is. And Sansa is more than ready, she's willing.'

"But-" Ned began. Cat cut him off.

"You favour her." She said simply. Ned looked hurt at the suggestion. "Oh, I know you love Sansa, quite dearly. But bringing Arya here, swearing us all to secrecy, letting her live completely oblivious to our situation, running around in breeches, playing with swords, and being taught to fight with them- yes, Ned, I know about the dancing instructor. It's all too much. And it can't last forever."

"Sansa's come to me, she wants to marry Gendry. We knew this day would come, Ned, and she will make a great queen. You can speak to Robert. You can make this happen, now."

"Now?! What's happened, Cat? Why the sudden urgency?" He asked.

"We don't have allies here, Ned. And this marriage has been in the works for so long. It's fragile, and other people are trying to break it apart. Sansa's made her choice, she and Gendry will do their duty, together. I want my daughters safe. They could find love... we did."

Ned sighed and wrapped his arms around his wife, kissing her softly on the lips before holding her close.

"Give me a few days." He asked, felling her tense in his arms. "Please, Cat. Give me time."

"And them time too." She sighed. "Very well."

She pulled away and smiled at Ned, "You've grown close to that boy, haven't you?"

"I have. He has a good head on his shoulders, and all of Robert's strength."

"Then take solace in the fact that no matter the outcome, he will become your good-son." She offered a consolatory smile.

"Why did she changed her mind so quickly?" He asked. "When we arrived, Sansa had her heart set on marrying Joffrey. Now she wants Gendry?"

"She's young." Cat said with a shrug. "And she's grown here. She's seen that Gendry is the wiser choice. And that she will be a great wife and queen for him."

"And what of Arya?" He asked.

Neither of them knew the answer to that.

* * *

They began by wandering through the Keep. Ned could see how Arya bit her tongue every time they passed some narrow passageway dimly lit room, now doubt fighting her excitement to give away her favourite hidden haunts. Sansa told her own stories willingly, of where she'd become best friends with Myrcella, where she'd met Margaery, or where Joffrey has taken her and given her a necklace.

Ned remarked at his two daughters, suddenly exact opposites. For once Arya was quiet and well-behaved and Sansa could hardly keep still.

They passed by the Godswood and took a moment to pause in it.

The sunset over their heads.

"It's so beautiful here." Sansa mused.

"The one in Winterfell is more beautiful." Arya said, kicking the dirt under her boots.

"Of course it is." Sansa said, sounding almost offended at the suggestion that any other Godswood could compare. Her eyes returned the the blaze of colours above her head and for a moment, Arya smiled proudly at her big sister.

It was of no surprise to Ned when the noise of conversation and the clanging of swords brought them to the training yard.

What did surprise him was what followed. Sansa stayed at his side, despite the young Tyrell girl with her many cousins watching from the other end of the yard. Arya stayed by his side too, instead of stealing a sword and jumping into the middle of the ongoing duel.

Ned looked at the yard, recognizing Loras Tyrell by his blonde curls, and the Lannisters by their golden crowns, a few older fighters he'd seen from the tournaments he'd attended in his own youth, and some so young he couldn't be sure they were men at all.

And their Prince stood off to the side for now, evaluating his opponents.

Cat was right, Ned has a great fondness for the boy. He liked the way he'd made his intentions clear from the get go, and tricked Arya in the process. His youngest daughter was stubborn and foolhardy enough to believe she could deceive anyone she pleased. But not him. Not immediately at least. And the boy looked so much like a young Robert, to him. The Robert who had existed before it all went wrong... Perhaps there were certain sentiments for him, when it came to matching Gendry with Arya. But he'd seen what would happen when young loves were kept apart. And he'd seen the wrath of a lovesick Baratheon before too.

"You see, the way he's standing, his weight isn't evenly distributed. He'll trip himself before he can even land a blow."

Sansa nodded diligently as Arya explained more to her. Surely enough, a few moments later, the young knight tripped and raised his hands in an eager plea for mercy.

"You learn this in your water dancing lessons?" Sansa asked. Shocking Ned even more.

"Yes. You have to know your opponents weaknesses and strengths so you can defend yourself and leave them vulnerable."

Sansa pointed down at the next knight, breathing heavily in preparation to fight.

"What are his weaknesses?" She asked.

"He's anxious, and probably going to overcompensate because of it." Arya wagered. "I won't know more till I see him fight."

"Who is he fighting?"

Gendry appeared from the gate, to the din of a roaring cheer, and stepped forward, sword in hand.

"I thought he'd fight with the war hammer?" Sansa asked, not expecting an answer from Arya.

"He's practicing with his sword," Arya said with a smile. "It means he doesn't fear his opponent."

"Oh."

The fight began slowly. Gendry paced calmly around his opponent who seemed to flail, quite nervously, with the sword in his hand.

"Take your time." Gendry said, allow the other man a few cursory swings of his swords to regain his confidence.

Arya watched the fight intently.

"The other man's weight is unbalanced." She explained to Sansa. "See how his shoulders swing to much? He doesn't have enough strength to keep control of his weapon and it will throw off his footwork."

The other man, Ser Lyncon, cut through the air, slicing near Gendry close enough to graze him but the Prince did not look afraid.

"Now he's more balanced," Arya continued. "But he's already showed Gendry his weakness."

"So what will the Prince do?" Sansa asked.

"Either wait, hoping the Knight will tire and lose his strength or he can rile him up and hope to throw him of his balance that way."

"What would you do?" Sansa asked.

Arya looked at her sister in surprise. Sansa enjoyed her visits to the practice yard for the same reason every other girl did. She enjoyed the view, and that chance to wave flirtatiously at the boys below. But this time she seemed to be actually watching, interested, and looking for the whatever Arya would describe. Then she turned to her sister, expectantly awaiting the answer to her question.

"I would rile him up, and make him think he's gonna win, and then in the last minute I'd exploit his weakness."

"Is that the wisest course of action?" Ned asked, leaning over his two girls to watch the fight below as it escalated.

"No," Arya pondered. "But its the most fun."

"Is that what Prince Gendry will do?" Sansa asked.

"I don't know." She replied. "It's what he should do."

Ser Lyncon was gaining confidence and it was quickly turning to arrogance. But in the Knight's haste and excitement he hadn't realized that the Prince was cornering him. He lunged forward with a decisive swing, slicing open the Prince's forearm and making the sword falter in his hand.

"Maybe he should've used the war hammer." Sansa said, her voice laced with worry.

"I wouldn't be so sure." Aray said with a knowing smile.

The Knight was in trouble now. He was so confident, he thought he'd won, bested his own future king. He looked around the yard triumphantly, his chest heaving with tired breathes. But Gendry's smile was slowly growing, and the yard was silent in anticipation.

With a quick, cool breath Gendry's sword switched hands and began swinging furiously at the Knight until he was cowering in his small corner of the yard, admitting to his defeat.

"I taught him that trick," Arya smiled. "After Syrio made me do everything with my right hand for days."

Ned ruffled Arya's hair and smiled but Sansa looked forlorn, for whatever reason Arya couldn't decipher. Down in the yard Gendry was smiling up at her, our of breath and grateful.

* * *

It was the suggestion of Margaery Tyrell that Sansa help Gendry with the wound on his arm. In her words, Sansa was more than capable and all the Maester's attentions were focused on Prince Tommen.

So now Sansa, Ned and Arya sat with Gendry, the ongoing din of the fights echoing in through the halls.

"You fought very well." Sansa said quietly, wiping away blood and trying not to wince in disgust as she did so. She could believe Margaery had suggested she take this job. She'd done so with that suggestive, knowing smile of hers, reminding her of the talk they'd had in the young Prince's room the day before.

"Thank you, Lady Sansa." Gendry said, noticing how uncomfortable she seemed. He took the cloth form her hand with a gently smile. "I can take care of this part."

Sansa smiled and placed her hands in her lap as Gendry wiped the hot, red blood from his arm.

"You stole one of my moves." Arya said. She sat off to the side, perched on a nearby crate, her feet swinging underneath her.

"My apologies, m'lady." He said, making her sneer at him. "I suppose I owe you a thanks for that, Arry."

"You owe me a new attack move." She muttered.

"Arya." Ned said, attempting to chastise her but unable to keep the smile from his lips.

Sansa continued her work, cleaning the wound and bandaging it tenderly, smoothing it down with her hands.

"Thank you for your assistance, Sansa." Gendry said gently. "Now I should go back out there."

"To continue fighting?" Sansa said, looking alarmed.

"Of course." The Prince and Arya said in tandem.

The Prince left and Ned's eyes shifted from him, to his two daughters.

"Arya," He said. "Isn't it about time for your lessons?"

She broke out in a smile and ran past her father down the hall,skittering to a stop before turning the cornering and disappearing from view.

Sansa sat there silently with her father, cleaning up her supplies. He'd never felt this kind of tension with his oldest daughter before. She was usually so open, her emotions displayed right on top for all who loved her to see. But now she was silent.

Then her shoulders shook, and her chest started to heave, and though she was still silent, she was crying.

"Sansa-" Ned began.

"He's hers, isn't he?" She sobbed, her hand lifting to cover her face.

Ned sat next to her daughter, wrapping an arm around her and letting her rest her head on his shoulder, as he had down when Lady had passed.

"Things don't always go as we plan, Sansa."

"But I've lost it all. I'm losing everything."

She continued to sob and cry. And as she did Ned could only hold her close, as his wife's words rang through his mind once more.


	9. Let the River In

The tournament started the next day. Though Arya missed the first half to train with Syrio Forel.

She didn't mind. She had no interest in seeing the Axe-Throwing competition anyways.

It was the Joust that interested her. And the Meelee. And especially the Single Combat trials.

She joined her father for the Joust and watched as the Moutain sliced off the head of Loras Tyrell's horse. She felt her father's hands covering her eyes so she couldn't see the blood but she peeked out from underneath them anyway. It didn't scare her. And later she joined Gendry in the Forge to go over the events.

"Although I don't think Loras should've won the Joust though, I mean, technically he didn't knock the Mountain off his horse."

"That's because there was no horse left to be knocked off of." Gendry said. Arya shrugged. "So you think the Mountain should've won?"

"I suppose not." She considered. "I don't much like the Mountain."

"Few do." Gendry said. "Except the Queen. He's her most loyal henchman."

"There's rumours about him doing horrible things." She commented, in the quietest voice he had yet to hear.

"They're not rumours." Gendry said. Arya looked up to find his eyes wide and unblinking. "Everyone's done horrible things."

"That time's over though, right?" She asked.

Gendry turned to face her and noticed again how small she was, sitting on top of the anvil in his forge. She didn't look afraid. She was strong, and fast, and more powerful than anyone else her age or size, but that would be nothing against someone like him, or someone like the Gregor Clegane.

He charged over to her and swept her up in his arms, lifting her off the table like she was nothing at all.

Arya for her part was stunned. One minute she was staring at the floor under her feet and the next Gendry was holding her close. She was overcome by a feeling of warmth, particularly by his breath running down the collar of her shirt.

"Gendry?" She asked, her voice still barely above a whisper. She decided not to bother, and instead let herself relax in his embrace.

"That time is most definitely over." He said into the nape of her neck. Nothing would happen to her, of that he was certain.

"Good." She said. His hair smelled clean like soap but also coated with his sweat. "Still I wouldn't mind getting in some last minute practice." She said as he slowly put her feet back on the ground. "I'd like to be prepared."

"Last minute?" He asked. She nodded but offered no further explanation. "Prepared for what?" He asked.  _  
_

"Everything." She said, spinning around and drawing her sword.

* * *

The next day followed with the Archery competition.

And Prince Gendry attended with Arya by his side. An action that did not go unnoticed.

They sat together, in the presence of the King, who smiled down at them every few minutes. Ned and Cersei were on either side of him. Cersei's eternal frown covered her lips and Ned looked more tired than usual. He'd arrived late, spending more and more time with the Maester's history books and in meetings around the city.

Cat had neglected to attend, instead spending the afternoon returning letters from her sons. Margaery and Sansa enjoyed the view together, fake smiles plastering their faces. They sat two rows down from the Princes, and were joined quickly by Lady Myrcella who descended from her spot next to her mother to watch with her friends.

"It means nothing." Margaery assured Sansa as the two girls glanced over their shoulders again to peak at Arya and the older Prince.

They looked like friends, Sansa could admit, they sat a reasonable distance apart, laughed jovially, talked loudly, and were more focused on the competition than each other. But still, they were together, and that would make people take notice and talk.

"Our plan persists." Margaery said with a smile.

"What are you two whispering about?" Myrcella giggled, turning her attention away from the archers momentarily.

"Love and other vices." Margaery singsonged. "We all have something we've set our eyes on, someone."

"Yes we have." Sansa agreed, staring down at her hands.

"We have?" Myrcella asked, looking around and seeing no one she wanted.

"Yes." Margaery said simply. "We have. And now we must act. Sansa, you wouldn't mind if I abandon you with our lovely princess for a minute would you?"

"Absolutely not." Myrcella said, linking her arms through Sansa's. "We'll plot our children's betrothals to each other."

Sasna smiled at the comment and then frowned at it's implications. When had the world decided that she was not to be betrothed to a Baratheon? And why had no one bothered to tell her?

"Don't fret." Margaery reminded her gently, planting a kiss on her forehead before departing to take a seat next to Joffrey and Tommen.

There was a pair that looked like a couple. Margaery sat turned toward Joff, her leg gently grazed his, her hands played gently along the inches of his arm, wound their way around his hand. Though Joff's eyes tried their hardest to remain intently on the archers he couldn't help himself from being pulled back in by Margaery's gaze. Soon enough it was like there was no one else in the world to them, but each other.

Sansa felt sick. This had all been Margaery's idea. She would marry Joffrey, and Sansa would choose Gendry and become queen. They would rule the Capital together. They would be Southron women of power. Now she was here with Myrcella, unbetrothed, alone, and without prospects. Margaery had Joffrey wrapped around her finger. And Arya...

Arya and Gendry. They may not be a couple. They may not be together. And yes, Sansa knew her sister would fight a betrothal, any betrothal, tooth and nail. But there was something undeniable about the way he looked at her.

And the most maddening part was that it didn't make Sansa mad at all. It looked sweet. Her sister looked so excited by the competition, the spirit of the tournament had infected the air and she'd caught the fever of it in full force. She bounced in her seat, cheered on each competitor, screaming louder for her favourites, and perched herself on the edge to see the results as quickly as possible.

And Gendry just watched, his enthusiasm equalled hers but it was divided, between the astonishing skill of the archers and the pure enjoyment on Arya's face.

He was in love with her. And there she was, oblivious to it.

But he was a Prince, her future king. And despite his honour and sincerity and virtue and all the good she'd heard of him, and seen first hand, he would have whoever he wanted to have. No matter of assertion on Sansa's end, or promises made forever ago would change a Prince's heart.

* * *

At dinner that night, Arya sat by her parent's side. After the meal, Gendry appeared behind her and whispered in her ear.

"Follow me, I have a surprise."

She did, but not without comment.

"Where are you taking me?" She asked as she followed him along the edge of the hall.

"I believe telling you would ruin the surprise."

"Why?"

"Because the point of a surprise is to leave the person with expectations and then hopefully match or exceed them, culminating in a pleasing turn of events."

Arya ran to catch up with him. "Ha ha you're very funny. I mean why are you surprising me?"

"Because it's fun." He stated simply. She followed him down the steps to the gardens. The celebration had spread throughout the Keeps grounds and uproarious laughter could be heard in it's farthest corner.

There was a group of men drinking and shouting boisterously, drowning out any other sound from around the courtyard.

In the middle of huddle sat a tall, wiry man with a scraggily brown beard and shaggy hair. He had a confident smile and laugh and seemed to be the centre of attention.

When he noticed the Prince he stood to attention, casually rising to his feet.

"Evening, your grace." His arms swept outwards in an almost mocking bow.

"Evening." Gendry replied. "Good work today, sers."

They all smiled, bellowing out half-drunken thanks.

"Arya Stark," He said, "Meet Anguy, the Archer who won today's tournament."

"Arya Stark? The Stark girl? The finally found you." He joked.

"My reputation proceeds me everywhere, doesn't it?" She said to Gendry through gritted teeth.

"Everywhere in this city." He replied.

Anguy continued, "Your father offered me a job today, after the tournament, in his Hand's Guard."

"Congratulations." Gendry said, though Arya's eyes remained locked with the young archer.

"I didn't take it." He said shaking his head.

"Then you're an idiot." Arya said not missing a beat.

"Aye, perhaps." He answered. "But after today I'm a rich idiot." He laughed and downed the rest of his drink. Immediately a refilled cup was in his hand.

"A rich idiot with a half-decent shot."

"Hey! It's more than half decent!" He shouted, suddenly offended.

"Are you any good with a sword?" Arya asked.

He shrugged, a noncommittal answer.

"So if you're not staying in the Capital, where will go after the tournament?" Gendry asked.

"Who says I'll leave? Plenty of wine and women for me right here in your lovely Capital, your Grace."

"You never stay in the same place for too long." Gendry said. "You only stuck around long enough to teach and then you took off."

"Did you miss me, your Grace?" Anguy said, inciting a laugh from the group.

"You taught Gendry how to shoot?" Arya asked him, circling closer.

"Aye, I did." He said smugly.

"Then why is our Prince still a terrible shot?" She asked, goading them with an arrogant smile on her face.

"Because your Prince is a terribly slow learner." Anguy replied. "Stubborn as a bull, this one is. Wouldn't take any of my instruction till I let an arrow graze his ear. Then he listened a bit better."

"He never listens to my instruction either." Arya said.

"Aye?" He eyed her up and down and chuckled. "And what's a little thing like you trying to teach our future king?"

"Water Dancing."

"Water Dancing?" Anguy laughed. "You are indeed as strange as they say."

"I am." Arya nodded.

"She any good?" Anguy asked Gendry.

He sighed and nodded.

"Well perhaps one day you will show me your Water Dancing as well." Anguy said.

"Mayhaps, someday soon." Arya said with a wicked smile.

Later, when the night was late and the men were still drinking, Gendry escorted Arya through the Keep back to her rooms.

"I had a feeling you two would get along." He said.

"Thank you." She said. "That was one of the few decent surprises I've gotten since I got here."

Gendry smiled.

Once they neared the stairs leading to her room he worked up the courage to ask, "What were the others?"

"Other what?" Arya asked, her mind off in a dream.

"The other surprises."

"The dragon skulls," She said with a shrug. "The day I found the kitchen." Her eyes lowered to the ground. "Meeting you wasn't as horrible as I thought it would be, either."

Gendry smiled. She wouldn't look at him right now if her life depended on it. And he had to keep himself from commenting on the pink tinge on her cheeks.  _She's so beautiful,_  he thought. "Well, I'm glad. Goodnight, my lady."

Before she could hit him he leaned down and placed a kiss on her cheek.

He walked away and turned at the end of the hall, finding the staircase empty. He chuckled to himself,  _She always disappears so quickly._

* * *

The next day at the Meelee, Arya waved to a very pale and tired Anguy as he sat in the Victor's Circle.

"Someone had too much fun last night." Arya laughed, Gendry smiled next to her.

She'd decided not to think too much about his kiss from last night. She'd received plenty of kisses on her cheeks. From her mother and father, her brothers on occasion, the septa during the rarest moments of pride, or from lords who'd visited Winterfell, who'd smelled so bad Arya could only cringe as they moved closer. Gendry's kiss had felt different. She didn't like it. Or she supposed she didn't like how little she didn't like it. She rolled her eyes at herself and bunched the fabric of her clothes in her small fists.

A fight caught her attention, but not the one she'd come to see.

"No more." The King said behind them. Arya tried to turn around but Gendry's hand on hers made her stop.

"Our fathers are talking."

"What about?" She asked. She could hear her father's quiet voice speaking in his usual calm demeanour. Gendry was about reply but was cut off by his father's shouts.

"I said no more!" The crowd went silent. The men preparing for the Meelee stopped in there tracks. All eyes were on the King. "I am your King and damn it all to the seven hells you will listen to me! No more of this talk, Ned!"

Arya's father stood next to the King, jaw taut and eyes lowered. "Of course, your Grace. My apologies." The words were stiff but sincere. And with a quick bow he left the Tournament grounds.

"What was that about?" Arya asked.

"Something neither your father nor mine are willing to share yet, with anyone."

Robert Baratheon presided over his silent crowd, "Well?" He said. "Let the fight begin!"

* * *

They were practicing together again. They'd made quite a routine of it except now the tournament was taking up much of their time. Usually, in the mornings Gendry would finish with whatever princely duties he'd had or had chosen to partake in, and then he would sneak out and work in the forge. Hard as he tried he wouldn't manage to get much work done because soon after Arya would show up.

She'd appear in the door in her boy's clothes, trying to hide her excitement about the early morning adventure she'd gone on, or the new move Syrio had taught her in her lessons. Some mornings she wouldn't even say anything, just pick up a sword and attack. Some mornings she would talk incessantly, excitedly, in hushed almost whispers, or loud out of breath exclamations, and they wouldn't start practicing for hours, or wouldn't practice at all.

On this particular morning, she came in, not as quietly as the first time, she sat herself up on the stone and watched him working on another new sword. He knew she was there. He'd gotten used to the silent padding of her feet. His arms were tired and sore this morning but he'd forced himself to come in and work, though it was going slow and painful.

With a final swing of his hammer crashing against the red hot metal he sent it flying to the floor and let his hard work sizzle in the basin next to him. Then he turned and stared at Arya, her feet tucked into her lap, her hands fidgeting along the anvil's edge.

"Don't stop on my account," She said. "I'm happy to just sit and watch you work for a while."

Gendry smiled at the compliment and wiped his dirty hands on his equally dirty apron. "Done for the day, m'lady."

"Great!" She said, hopping from her perch, "Let's start practicing then. I'm ready to make you pay for that m'lady."

"Mayhaps, we could take a break from practice today, Arya." He said carefully. She looked at him strangely. "I'm not sure I can lift my arms up for another moment."

"Okay..." She said.

"Sorry to disappoint you."

"That's okay," She said. "We can always work on your footwork instead."

He groaned, but acquiesced.

It was like a dance, much as Arya hated to admit it. It was graceful, and fluid, and beautiful, even without the swords. She showed him how to step, to counter, to match your opponent and all the while he moved in opposite of her as she led, like she'd seen her sister and her suitors during the rare dances at Winterfell.

Once he'd mastered the steps, they began to talk.

"Are you planning to attend tomorrow's event with your father?" He asked. He spoke of the Single Combat competition. His brow furrowed and his mouth twisted as he asked her his question, his mind half lost in concentration.

"I suppose it would be better to sit with him than with Sansa and Jeyne." She replied, weighing her options. Closer to her father meant closer to the King, but Sansa rarely paid attention to the important parts of the tourney. Instead she talked about who wore what or which Knights were the most handsome.

Arya had been floored the other day when Sansa had conversed with her about Gendry's fighting techniques. But her answer must have bored Sansa because she'd hardly said two words to her since.

"Good." He said.

"Why do you ask?" She said, swiftly dodging the incoming threat of Gendry stepping on her toes. She countered with an attack and landed an imaginary blow to his ribs. He was careless this morning, he was distracted.

He was thinking of a conversation he'd had this morning with his father...

_The Small Counsel had just adjourned when Robert placed a hand on Gendry's shoulder._

_"Stay back a moment, son."_

_Gendry did as he was told and as his father poured himself another cup of wine, the Prince stood at the balcony, overlooking the courtyard below._

_Myrcella was running wildly among the blooming flowers, Sansa with her red hair flowing was chasing her, Jeyne nearby in tow. They still played like children, little girls. It made him smile. Nearby Margaery Tyrell sat with the Queen, observing and talking. Always talking. Those people never seemed happy._

_And then there was Arya, off where she thought no one could see her, and he was sure no one was trying to. But his eyes always seemed to drift to her. She sat on the top of the wall surrounding the Courtyard, no doubt stalking a nearby cat trying to learn it's secrets, as her dancing master instructed. He'd told her about Syrio Forel's strange assignments last time they'd sparred together. But it looked as though now she'd given up. The cat was purring happily at her bare foot, the other was outstretched and swinging in the cool shaded air. She had a stone in one hand and a small knife in the other and was sharpening in lazily. She looked happy, off on her own._

_"Tomorrow when you win the Tournament, who will you crown as your Queen of Love and Beauty?"_

_"You're getting ahead of yourself, father. There's no garauntee that I'm going to win the tournament, there are many great knights fighting tomorrow, who have fought valiantly all week. Any one of them could win."_

_"Aye, many great knights." Robert agreed. "But only one great, future king."_

_"That's no reason for me to win." Gendry said._

_"Of course not." Robert said half-heartedly. "You'll win because you're not a great knight. But a great man."_

_"Thank you, your Grace."_

_"Don't thank me," Robert insisted. "Just tell me who you will name as your Queen of Love and Beauty." He gestured into the yard below, as if the only available options lay before him. Again his eyes drifted._

_He knew he answer his father wanted to hear, but he couldn't make himself give it._

_"Perhaps I'll give the honour to my sister," He jested. "Myrcella could use another flower crown."_

_The King gave him a laugh that was neither jovial nor honest._

_"You have three fine, obvious choices before you, maybe four." He said. "But we both know you'll pick Arya Stark."_

_"What makes you so sure of that?" He asked, feigning innocence._

_"There's a spark there, I've seen it!" He said. Gendry recoiled as his father got closer, the stench on his breath was awful but it was a scent he was used to by now._

_"Seen it? You forced it into being!"_ _At this comment, his father seemed offended. He staggered forwards and slammed his hand on the stone blockade._

_"I've forced nothing that wouldn't have come about on it's on. Baratheons and Starks, Stark and Baratheons. We're an inseparable force."_

_"And you're lucky that on that score you were correct." Gendry admitted. "But to use Arya and me to recreate your own past was twisted of you."_

_"I'm tiring of these accusations!" Robert said. "You and Ned with all your theories, and your bringing up the past. You're here now, what does it matter where you were? He won't let it lie! You won't let it lie! There are things you're better off not knowing!"_

_"Not knowing?" Gendry said in disbelief. "Everyone in the Capital knows!"_

_"Do you love the girl, or not?" The King shouted._

_"Whether I'm in love with Arya Stark is irrelevant. I'm talking about how you tried to use the two of us for your own sick perversions."_

_"Hey." Robert shouted, reaching out a meaty hand and wrapping it tightly around his son's upper arm. "I am still your father, and your King. And you will show me respect."  
_

_"And I do, every single day. No matter what anyone says about you. But don't deny what your intentions were in bring me and Arya together. You saw an opportunity and you took it. You took it when you saw her and she was just a child, didn't you? Didn't you?!"_

_That was enough for the King to snap. He grabbed Gendry in both arms and shook him hard. The Prince's arms ached as his father's grip tightened and his head smacked against the pillar behind him._

_The sound made them both stop. Robert with a look of shock on his face and Gendry with an unsurprised grimace._

_"Name the girl." The King said, eyes cast down, before vanishing from the room._

The problem hadn't been that his father had told him who to name, but that he couldn't truly admit why. And that suddenly, to be with Arya, to look at her and feel his smile grow in her presence, it felt dirty, tainted by his father's intentions.

He was planning on naming her anyways. Though his biggest problem had been that the second he placed that crown in her hands, she'd be furious. Though the thought amused him greatly.

He couldn't imagine how she'd react: would she throw the crown to the ground, would she spit in his face and reject him right there in front of everyone, would she run away again, run from him?

"Mayhaps we should rest for the day." Arya said.

"Why is that m'lady?" He asked, snapping out of his thoughts. She was already halfway to the door.

"Because had I had a sword in my hand, you would've been dead ten steps ago." She said.

* * *

Gendry's mind was still in a fog that night at the Feast. The whole Keep had been in a hushed frenzy all afternoon. He wasn't too sure why. It might've been the bitter excitement at the end of the tournament, the last minute celebrations and indulgences, but it felt like something else.

Servants were running around the grounds in silence, preparing for the night. The cooks in the kitchen were working hard, eyes down as he walked through observing them. And any lords he ran into as he meandered down the corridors gave a curt "Your Grace." before continuing on their ways.

He looked down the table, Arya had been stuffed into a dress she no doubt loathed. It was a deep green wool with silk trim that looked like it might've belonged to Sansa in her younger years. Now Arya tugged at it's sleeves and itched around the collar looking uncomfortable and annoyed. When Gendry caught her eye she rolled hers and offered a sheepish smile.

Margaery Tyrell, normally seated at one of lower tables with her family, had been invited with her brother to join the royal family tonight. She and Loras sat between Cersei and Joffrey.

"Evening, Nephew." Tyrion said, appearing at Gendry's side.

"Why do I have the sinking feeling something bad is about to happen?" He said.

"Because, it probably is." He replied. "Take solace in the fact that my lovely sister wouldn't let it happen until after dessert, or your father's fourth cup of wine."

"If that's her barometer I'm surprised chaos didn't ensue after breakfast this morning." He said, feeling particularly bitter at the sight of his father.

"My, my, aren't we feeling rebellious tonight?" Tyrion teased. "Careful, rebellion's how we all got here in the first place. That's quite an impressive bruise on the back of your neck, Prince Gendry. Pray tell, in which battle did you acquire it?"

"Not sure." Gendry coughed.

"Ah," Tyrion said, understanding. "I see."

There conversation was broken by the sound of Cersei's chair scraping back against the floor.

"And here comes chaos now." Tyrion said, downing the remainder of his wine.

The hall silenced as the Queen began to speak.

"We're gathered here tonight to celebrate not only the end of the incredible tournament, honouring our new Hand of the King." A small applause erupted, Cersei waited impatiently for it's end. "But I'm so very pleased to announce that the tournament has led not only to enjoyment and economic prosperity in the Capital. But as a result of the Starks joining the Baratheons in King's Landing, we have formed another alliance between two of Westeros' greatest houses."

"What is she doing?" Gendry said. Everyone on at the King's table looked shocked and confused, the Starks more so than anyone.

"If I know my sister, it's either something terrible or something terribly brilliant." Tyrion answered.

All eyes remained glued to the Queen's lips as she spoke.

"Yes," She smiled breathily, placing a cold hand on the King's shoulder. "My husband and I are so very, very pleased to announce the betrothal of our son Joffrey, to the beautiful, Margaery Tyrell. May there union be prosperous and may the Baratheons and the Tyrells grow strong together for centuries to come."

She raised a glass and a toast was made. The cooks emerged from the kitchen with a pie big enough to serve the whole hall and then some. And while conversation and celebration erupted the King's table sat in shock and confusion.

"For whatever reason, her brilliance always surprises me." Tyrion said, refilling and immediately emptying his glass again.

"And by brilliance you mean-"

"Her unstoppable maleficence, of course."

"Naturally." Gendry nodded.

"Yes, you are." Tyrion replied with a belch.

Gendry's eyes crinkled. At other end of the table his eyes locked with Arya's.

"Did you know about this?" She mouthed.

He shrugged his shoulders. She looked shocked, and a little amused, but otherwise in true Arya Stark style, unbothered by whatever happened around her. Ned looked at Robert with a strange kind of worry, and Catelyn looked completely caught of guard. Sansa... Sansa looked unsurprised, her lips even seemed to hold a genuine, although somewhat sad, smile.

Gendry chuckled to himself.  _She knew,_ he thought, immediately followed by another as his eyes landed on a beaming Margaery Tyrell,  _She'd being played._

The excitement of the celebration had barely begun when Robert stood, less gracefully than his petite wife, with far more sway in his stance.

"And another alliance has been made. Since tonight is apparently the night for grand announcements, I was planning to save it for after the Tournament but I'll follow in my wife's fashion and share with you all right now that my daughter Myrcella shall be wed in Dorne in the upcoming months." He lazily raised a glass and everyone followed suit in a confused, excited haze. "To the allegiance of the Baratheons and the Martells, may it be as prosperous on their land as any union here on ours. Myrcella will be missed, greatly." His eyes landed on Cersei, who looked ready to kill.

The rest of the evening was a mix of celebration and tears. Joffrey sat at one end in ecstatic obliviousness with his new betrothed. And Myrcella sat at the other, wrapped in the arms of Sansa Stark as she weeped her sorrows.

"What just happened?" Gendry asked when he finally caught up to his Uncle later.

"It's all a game." Tyrion said.

"But to what end?" He asked, the whole night such a blur in his mind.

"You take too much after your father." He said, drunkenly rolling his eyes. "Although it appears even he has learned something over the years." He say the confusion that remained on his nephew's face and sighed. "You've just gotten engaged to Sansa Stark. And you have Cersei to thank for that."

"What?!" He said. He knew the night had been a mess, and perhaps he'd had too much to drink, but he was pretty sure he was still sober enough to notice a third marriage announcement.

"I know you're smart enough that I don't need to explain this to you." Tyrion said. "Take a moment, riddle it out."

He watched as Sansa tried desperately to get Myrcella to smile, pausing in her efforts to look up. Her eyes met Gendry's and she smiled meekly, a blush rising to her cheeks, before returning her attentions to his sister.

And then it clicked. The Starks were still owed a betrothal. Joffrey was paired off with Margaery, though he wasn't sure if that was more the Tyrell's doing or the Queen's. Tommen was still too young for them to even consider a marriage pact, at least for Sansa. And that left one choice. Though suddenly it wasn't his. It had been made for him.

"But... but why ship Myrcella off to Dorne?" He asked.

"He's punishing her." Tyrion answered.

"Myrcella?"

"No, Cersei." He clarified. "She loves her children, and now in one night she's lost Myrcella to a House thousands of miles away, and whether she's figured it out yet or not, she's lost Joffrey to the Tyrells. Two gone in one night."

"So my father crushed Myrcella just to hurt Cersei?" He asked, his finger crunching into a fist as he watched his little sister sob.

"This is something none of you will ever get on your own," Tyrion said, slapping a hand on Gendry's bruised shoulders, not noticing his winces. "So I'll give you this lesson for free."

"What's that?" Gendry asked, waiting for some half-drunken wisdom to be doled out of his uncle's mouth.

But the response he delivered was surprisingly sober. "You're not children, you're chess pieces."


	10. Glory

By the next morning rumours of Gendry and Sansa's betrothal flew about so quickly that by the afternoon, and the single combat trials, their wedding was practically fact. The audience arrived and took their seats though the mood was much more energetic than it had ever been. There was celebration in the air over Joff's engagement, the prospect of a future queen, sympathy for Myrcella's position, and excitement at the prospect of Dorne arriving to the Capital in the nearby years. Gossip was everywhere. Tenfold it's usual amount.

Gendry hadn't seen Arya all morning. She's skipped the morning's Axe Throwing Competition entirely and now, as he prepared with hammer in hand for his first fight, he hoped she wasn't already over the city walls.

He tried to not focus on her, though his father's words rang in his head and the flower crown was sitting a few feet away from the Victor's Circle, a perfect shade of Winter Blue. Instead he focused on his family. Myrcella, her eyes red rimmed and still wet with tears, trying to be strong in the row beneath the father who'd all but banished her the night before. She'd ship off in two weeks, to a land she'd only read about to marry a man she didn't know at all. Tommen sat next to her, feeling slightly better but still looking a little pale and sickly. He'd begged their mother to let him come to the grounds for the last event, and Myrcella had begged as well, and Cersei had relented. The only Lannister who looked to be in fine form this morning was Joffrey. Pleased as punch with his own betrothal and either oblivious or uncaring to the effect it had on everyone else, he sat with his scrunched up face beaming out at the crowd. Margaery sat next to him and of course, Sansa Stark was there too.

He couldn't look at her. His face would betray the fact that he couldn't marry her. He couldn't marry her. But he had to. He thought of the stories Lord Stark had told him, about his own betrothal, and how Catelyn had been expecting to marry his brother Brandon. And now they found themselves in a similar situation…

Where was Arya?

Under the heat of the blazing sun, lords and ladies watched as men in heavy armour attempted to prove their worth, weapon in hand. Gendry gripped his hammer tightly. He was going to win. With Gregor Cleagane eliminated, his biggest competition was Loras Tyrell, who he had no fear of when he had a war hammer in his hand.

After his first few fights, Gendry was allotted a break. He took the moment to join his family, clad in armour, and watch the others sparring. Some pipsqueak of a knight was fighting Lancel Lannister and giving the crowd something to laugh about. Gendry recognized the armour, though he couldn't quite place where he'd seen it. He turned his attentions to Myrcella.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Fine, brother, just fine." She replied, eyes glued to the fight below. The look on her face told him not to press further.

"And how are you, Tommen?" He asked.

"I feel great!" Was Tommen's reply, it was genuine and true.

"Don't you seem excited?" He said with a smile. Gendry himself did not feel great. He was sweaty, and tired, and the sun was blazing a million degrees in the sky and the competition was not even half over.

"Yes, I'm all better. But mother doesn't believe me. She also didn't believe me when I told her there was cat in my room last night."

"What?" Gendry asked.

"He means Ser Pounce."

"No!" Tommen said, outraged. "Ser Pounce sleeps above my pillow. This cat was at the end of my bed, and it's eyes were glowing. He told me he was a cat and he was watching over me and that I should go back to sleep and get some rest."

"And?" Gendry asked.

"And I did." Tommen replied, turning nonchalant, back to the fights.

"Mother's posting more men by his door even though it was a dream." Myrcella determined, waving them away with a swoosh of her delicate hand.

"It was not a dream!" Tommen protested.

"A cat spoke to you?" Gendry asked.

"Tell Gendry what _else_ the cat said, Tommen." She said, pressing him on.

Gendry looked at his youngest brother, "It told me the small knight would win tomorrow's tournament."

"And?"

"And that the small knight would even beat the future king."

"Oh really?" Gendry said with a smile.

"The cat said you knew nothing in comparison to his skill."

"Well," Gendry said, "We'll see about that soon enough won't we?"

Below them, the small knight took down Lancel with a few unexpectantly strong blows. And their Lannister cousin landed in the dirt, shaking as he stared up and called "Mercy!"

The crowed applauded as the small knight stretched his arm over his head in victory before lending a hand to help the fallen boy up. He paused for a moment and seemed to say something to Lancel that caused him to go white as a sheet.

Tommen's nose crumpled in confusion, "That armour looks... like mine."

"Curiouser and curiouser." Myrcella said. "Who do you fight next?" She asked.

"I'm not sure I know." He said. "It as supposed to be Thoros of Myr but after winning the meelee he bowed out. Purse was too heavy, I suppose."

"Or perhaps he didn't want to embarrass his future king by beating him." Myrcella said, raising an eyebrow and attempting a smile. It made Gendry happy to see her spirits lifting.

"Perhaps." Gendry said with a smile to match.

Loras Tyrell was up next, fighting Beric Dondarrion, which would prove to be a good match. He enjoyed the first portion of it, until Tommen, nervous and unable to take all the violent excitement, hid himself in Myrcella's arms. Joffrey sneered at them from his seat.

"Such a weak little boy, can't handle a few scrapes and cuts. Can't handle the sniffles without mummy by his bedside." Joffrey glared at him. "Can't even put that armour of his to good use."

"I don't seem to recall you being so much stronger, Joff." Gendry called out over his siblings' heads. "I've heard stories of 'wolf bites' being no greater than a small scratch, and yet you run crying all the way to mummy."

"That's what happens when you listen to a wolf bitch's lies." Joffrey said.

Gendry stood up at once but Joff paid no attention.

"What are you going to do?" Joffrey asked, looking bored as he continued to watch the fight below. "Defend your betrothed? That's not what she is anymore. Now you just get my leftovers."

Sansa looked away, embarrassed, and Margaery placed a consolatory hand on hers.

"Not here, Gendry." Myrcella said, standing too and gently placing a hand on her brothers shoulder. "Not now. Sansa wouldn't like it, it would embarrass her, neither would Arya. And neither would I." He looked down at her. He could've sworn he felt steam coming out of his ears. But she looked so gentle, and still, and hopeful. So he gathered up his anger and stormed off instead. At the bottom of the steps, he turned and glared up at his spoiled little brother. "Why not pick on someone your own size, Joff? Why not join the men, down here, and fight with something other than your rotten little tongue."

Joffrey scoffed and waved away Gendry's comments while brushing Margaery's hand from his arm.

* * *

 To everyone's surprised, Beric Dondarrion was bested by Loras Tyrell. The Knight Flowers continued to rise in the people's good graces.

Joffrey soon grew tired of sitting with the women and retreated to his mother's side. Tyrion Lannister arrived, taking Gendry's old place between Myrcella and Tommen, making them laugh and smile and cheer on the knights fighting below. When Tommen told his uncle about the cat in his room and the prophecy it told Tyrion only smiled and said,

"I don't know why you sound so surprised, us small men still know how to take down our enemies." He leaned in close and smiled, "We go for the knees. Can't reach much higher, I'm afraid." The two children giggle into their hands and Tyrion smiled at them.

"Gendry's fighting!" Myrcella squealed, sitting up straight in her chair. The audience paid great attention as Gendry and his opponent danced their way around the yard, the clanging of their swords providing the rhythm.

They were a well matched pair, equals in size and strength, though the other man had a much bigger sword. And when it struck down, it broke the prince's clear in half. The whole arena held their breath. Suddenly the dance sped up, with Gendry teetering backwards, dodging blow after blow of the tall, bright sword.

"What now?" Myrcella asked. "Has Gendry lost?"

"He certainly doesn't seem to think so." Tyrion said, watching his nephew and noticing the laughing smile peaking out from under his handcrafted helm.

Behind the sparring the rows of men waiting eagerly for their own fight watched with equal awe. The pair fought passed several dropped jaws, tight lips and wide eyes until they reached the end of the line and found Loras Tyrell, who was next to spar, waiting with his opponent, the Small Knight.

Loras watched with one eyebrow cocked, wondering if he might not have to beat his future king after all. He tried to remember the name of the man the Prince was fighting, but was at a loss for his name. He was from the Reach, or perhaps was it the Crownlands? He was about to turn to his opponent and asked when his thoughts were interrupting by the smooth, sharp sound of steel leaving sheath. And his balance felt off, suddenly.

"Catch!" The Small Knight next to him shouted, throwing Loras' own sword to the Prince. Loras and the Prince joined the rest of the Arena in the same act: staring at this peculiar little man. The Small Knight looked around at the silence, and the eyes falling on him. His eyes returned to the Prince and gestured to his opponent. "Fight!" He shouted, unimpressed by the Prince's stunned expression.

"Is he allowed to do that?" Myrcella whispered to her uncle.

"Well I can't imagine our young Knight of Flowers will be to pleased but technically... technically it's allowed."

The fight resumed, Gendry's energy was renewed, as was the audience's who were now cheering louder than ever, meanwhile Gendry's opponent looked completely stunned.

After that it was an easy win.

The Prince took a bow as the crowd cheered, and then quickly returned his sword to Loras Tyrell, who smiled curtly and bowed to his Prince. Gendry took the arm of his helper and lifted it into the air with his, earning the Small Knight an uproarious applause. Minutes later, when it died down, Gendry smiled at the anonymous knight.

"Thank you for your help." He said. "Good luck in your fight." The knight offered a small bow before rushing away, muttering something under his breath about being owed.

He returned to Loras' side and chuckled as Gendry removed his helm and disappeared to find a drink.

"You'll never win, now." The small knight said, smiling and waving.

"And what makes you say that?" Loras asked. "I could beat you in my sleep."

"But they wouldn't like that." The knight suggested, waving to his adoring audience. "Because now they love me too." 

* * *

 

The Arena cleared out as the midday sun began to fall. Food and music and dancing were causing a ruckus in the streets of the city while inside the Keep, the children of royalty ate silently in the quiet Hall.

Gendry entered, sweaty, tired and hungry, and was greeted by a hug from Myrcella.

"That was incredible!" She shouted, smiling ear to ear.

"An excellent fight, your Grace." Margaery said. Sansa merely smiled.

"Sansa," Gendry began, causing her eyes and hopes to lift. "Have you seen Arya? I haven't seen her all day."

"Neither have I." Myrcella said. "She wash't outside in the crowd. What a fight to miss!"

"I'm going to go look for her." Gendry decided.

"You should really rest." Margaery commented.

"I'm sure she's not gone too far." Sansa said dryly.

"Then she won't be hard to find." He said, leaving the Hall.

Sansa had looked sad all day, Margaery noticed. And it was because she'd felt sad all day. But her plan was working splendidly even if not from all angles. Still, she hated seeing her so shaken up. She looped her arm through Sansa's, determined to see her smile.

"Don't worry, Gendry will win and name you, and if not, Loras will win and name you and we'll cause a wonderful scandal! Wouldn't that be fun?" She asked, smiling suggestively. But Sansa did not return. "You have options, Sansa, you'll have more than you can possible dream of. I'll make sure of it."

Sasna rested her head on Margaery's shoulder, the only person in the world who was truly looking out for her. 

* * *

 

The competition resumed. It would be either Loras Tyrell or the Small Knight facing off against the Prince.

Despite the crowd's love for both men, it was the prince everyone truly favoured. They wanted him to win, they wanted him to crown the Queen of Love and Beauty. They wanted a Tourney that songs would be written about.

"Loras looks confident." Sansa said, Margaery smiled and patted her knee.

"My brother's only worry now is whether or not to let the Prince win. On the one hand it would be rude to beat him in his own home, in front of his people, but it's not in Loras' nature to fall on his own sword. Winning would guarantee him a place in Gendry's King's Guard. Then no matter who you'd marry we'd be here, together." She said, tugging Sansa closer.

"When did you lose such faith that I'd be marrying Gendry?" Sansa asked, pulling away.

"I haven't." Margaeyr said, eyes wide with shock. "Everyone in the city is sure yours is the next match to be made." Her smile faltered with her next words, "I suppose... I just wonder, if that's what you want, Sansa?"

"Of course." She said.

"I know you want to stay here, to be here with me, ruling the city, to be Queen. But do you want Gendry?" She asked. "This goes beyond a woman's duty, Sansa, it's one thing to not like your betrothed it's another entirely to feel wrong, guilty, to even look at them, or speak to them."

"What are you saying?" She asked. "That I'm too frightened to speak to Gendry?"

"No, I'm saying that's he's only Arya's if you let him be. You are beautiful, kind, and wonderful, Sansa. If you want him you have all the gifts to make him yours. Everyone already believes you've got him, why not try to convince yourself?"

 _But he's hers._ It was the first thought to enter her mind, and it rung out so true. She hid her eyes from Margaery, in case her clever friend could read her mind again.

"I have to go." She said, rising and running away.

* * *

Down on the grounds, she found Gendry quickly. His eyes set wholeheartedly on the fight.

"What has you so intrigued, your Grace?" Sansa asked, moving next to him.

"Sansa, you shouldn't be down here." He said, turning his eyes briefly to her then back to the fight.

"I'll be okay." She said, letting her arms rest next to his on the fence. "I'm strong too."

The Small Knight seemed to teeter slightly in place, and Sansa could see why, "He's fighting right-handed? Why?" She asked, outraged. Gendry looked at her and she began to backtrack. "He's just fought left handed this whole time... has he not?"

"He has," Gendry nodded. "Looks like we've both got a keen eye. He's overconfident. He's trying to throw Loras off and it's not going to work unless he can stick to the proper footing."

"Is it not the same trick you pulled in the training yard? Arya said you fight with a sword instead of war hammer when you aren't afraid of whoever you're fighting."

"Perhaps, yes. But not just that, it's also so they can't see your best moves before your in a true battle. You never want to reveal your full arsenal of attacks to an enemy. This Knight," He said, gesturing to the Small one, "Is repeating all his previous moves, just in opposition, the only part of it throwing Loras off is the fact that it's completely non-sensical."

"Perhaps that is his plan of attack?" Sansa asked, optimistically.

"You want to see the good in people, don't you?" He chuckled.

"I suppose... I try." She said uncertainly. "I try to see it in everyone. In Arya... in you." His eyes widened at those words. "You two seem to have become such close friends, but with the events of the last few days... I suppose I just have to ask... are you, I mean, are we..."

"I don't know." He said shortly.

"Oh... alright." Sansa said, unsure where to go next. Though she had more questions, "When you win, will you at least name me? As your Queen... of Love and Beauty, I mean."

"If I win," He said. "I don't know who I will name."

"Arya's not even here." Sansa said spitefully. "You can't even name her... You shouldn't name her."

"Why not?" He asked, feeling mild outrage. "Because I should name you instead?"

"No!" She defended. "Because... because... have you even thought this through? You name Arya your Queen of Love and Beauty, you make her your queen, and... what's next? You two rule the kingdom in perfect happiness? You with your young, beautiful, dutiful queen on your arm, by your side. Does that sound like my sister, your Grace?"

Gendry groaned, "No, it doesn't sound like any of us."

"Arya doesn't want to be here. She wants the North. She belongs there." Sansa smiled to herself, her fingers toying with the end of her simple braid. "You should've seen her there. She was so alive, with such a big smile. Ugh, I could've strangled her some days, getting away with whatever she pleased, driving our Septa crazy. But she was happy. Here, she only seems that way. But she's not. Trust me, she's not."

Gendry's eyes were far off. Now neither of them were watching the fight.

"I know you're in love with her." Sansa said. "And that you're not in love with me. Regardless of what you think of me, you don't want to marry me. I can see it. It's everyone else who's too excited to notice. But if you really love her, at least consider what I'm saying. Marry me, and you please our families, you appease the kingdom, and you let her go free. I'm her sister, your her friend, her king, together we can set a decree that she doesn't have to be married. We can send her home... I thought, we could make her Warden of the North. Keep her here, marry her now, and you'll only push her away."

"Are these your ideas? Or theirs?" He asked, pointing to the stands where Margaery and Cersei sat.

"Mine." Sansa said, letting the offence ring through in her voice. "Margaery's been nothing but kind to me. And your mother barely even speaks to me."

"Just because Cersei isn't speaking to you doesn't mean she doesn't have you wrapped around her finger. As for Margaery Tyrell, she is a snake hidden in flowers. Watch out for her."

"I will," Sansa said. "Just as she's watched out for me. She's taken care of me, while no one else here has. She's ensuring that I won't fall into the court's bad graces when you toss me aside. Her intentions with me are good and true. I need her, especially since no one here seems to need me."

Gendry sighed and stared out at the yard, "It's not that I would hate to marry. And if it's my duty, I'll do it. In any other circumstances you would've made me a very happy man, I'm sure." He paused and looked down, "But after meeting her... I just... couldn't. It needs to be more than just duty. I hope you know that feeling someday."

Sansa willed the tears out of her eyes. She glanced one last time at the Small Knight and scoffed, "She couldn't even hide it well." Then she walked away.

Gendry straightened up and watched the fight.

The Small Knight lost to Loras Tyrell, though not as quickly or as surely as Gendry and the others might've thought.

He won the crowd's heart, their sympathy and concern, with every falter and every shake. And then as Loras beat and pounded and swung his large sword, he seemed brutal compared to the small man, no he must be only a boy, with the sword thin as a needle.

Loras' breath grew heavy, his legs and arms weakened, and as the crowd's cheers diminished with each of his blows, his confidence did in fact waver. Then the Small Knight switched hands and came back full force, left hand swinging, Loras caught of guard was suddenly unsure of his to protect himself and swung helplessly as he staggered backwards to the middle ground.

But Loras would not go down, he wouldn't lose to the Prince and he would hardly let himself lose to a knight so small, so unknown. He stroked back with quick, strong advances until finally, with the knight's back against a wall, he stabbed him under the arm, his sword landed inches deep in the wood post behind the knight.

"Yield." He instructed. And much to his chagrin the younger knight did as told.

Loras circled the yard, victorious. The crowd applauded his comeback as the Small Knight tossed his sword to the ground and stomped angrily over to pick it up, before quickly disappearing.

Breathing heavily, he passed the other knights, eager to return to the stables for a drink. When the Small Knight passed the Prince, neither said anything, the Prince only smiled and nodded before entering the ring for the final fight.

* * *

 

Loras Tyrell did not let his Future King win. He did however lose, and in quite spectacular fashion. Both men trying so hard, swinging with all their might. Gendry with his war hammer, and Loras with his long, shining sword.

It was a quick fight. Both men were tired, but just stubborn enough to keep the fight going. But while Loras was fast, Gendry was strong, and once he'd had enough he finished Loras with three quick, strong swings. The crowd cheered, and Gendry found it strange, he was so tired he could barely find it in himself to celebrate. He helped Loras off the ground and the two stood together, both dazed and confused until Gendry was guided to the Victor's Circle and handed the crown of flowers. The rest of the knights were sent out on the grounds to applaud their future king and celebrate with him.

Gendry's vision was fuzzy. He ripped the helmet off his head and couldn't hear anything beyond the ringing in his ears. He felt his arm being lifted and the applause growing. He shook his head and felt things clear up, slightly. He had won. And now they placed in his hand the crown of roses, to be given to some lucky girl.

To Sansa Stark. It was to be given to Sansa Stark. There she was, right there at the railing, waiting patiently in her place with good intentions and her unsuspecting eyes stuck down at her hands. She was applauding along with the rest of them, smiling at Myrcella as she cheered for him. Her smile was wide but her eyes looked sad. The poor girl, all eyes on her, expectant, anticipating, and she had nothing coming to her. She already knew it too.

Because the crown was for Arya. Arya who wasn't there, and hadn't been seen all day. Arya who was in hiding. His eyes glazed over the armoured knights standing in a line. He chuckled to himself. Arya who couldn't even hide it well.

There were whisperings among the crowds, of the future king and queen beginning their romance here today, for everyone to see.

His eyes met Sansa's and he smiled, nodding his apologies. She sighed, and shook her head, nodded all the same. She bit her lip to keep tears from forming. He walked in clunky armour, arms stiff as they swung back and forth, the crown losing petals with every step.

"You think you're so clever." He said, stopping in front of the Small Knight. He tossed the crown and it landed lopsided on the helm.

The crowd gasped and went silent.

The knight didn't move, but Gendry could see the armour begin to shake. The knight reached up, grabbed the crown, and threw it to the ground then ripped off his own helmet and stepped up to the Prince.

"What do you think you're doing?!" Arya shouted. Her hair was matted and tangled from being stuck under the helm all day.

He bent down and picked the crown off the ground. "Naming you as my Queen of Love and Beauty." He replied, "And they can all deal with it as they please."

"Yes, they can." Arya said, pulling the crown from her head and tossing it out into the crowd as she prepared to storm off. "But I won't." She clunked away in her stolen armour.

Gendry left too, a moment later, his mind a mixture of disappointment and satisfaction.

The crowd was more alive than ever. Alive with gossip and scandal, happier now than they ever could've imagined.

Sansa looked down, the blue flower crown sat barren in her lap.


	11. Burning Bridges

He found her where he'd always find her, in the Godswood.

He'd barely set foot inside before he heard her voice. "So, how'd you figure me out?"

Gendry sighed, not sure why he suddenly felt like the guilty one. "You stole Tommen's armour, you fought right handed to throw off Loras, before switching back to the left hand, you fought with your little Needle for crying out loud! I'm upset I didn't figure it out sooner! Seven hells, I didn't even figure it out before Sansa."

"Sansa?" She asked.

"Your braid was poking out of your helmet, she saw it from the grounds." He said, eyes swathing around in the dark to find her. "Where are you?"

"Up here." The armour lay in a pile at her feet and she sat on top of the wall on the Godswood, legs swinging back and forth. "Sansa really figured me out first?"

He nodded. "You fought well. Until you got to Loras Tyrell. What were you thinking?"

She shrugged. "I suppose I knew I would never actually beat him. So I thought, why not try everything you've got? Why not be daring and crazy and do something they'd never expect?"

"Like fight poorly?"

"It kept things interesting. And it almost worked." She said, her eyes snapping to attention, and baring down on him. "I threw him off kilter for a few seconds there. I could see it in his eyes, this... sudden fear. And I got a rush from it. It was incredible. Worth whatever trouble my parent's might've thrown my way if they found out." She sighed. "Why did you have to give me that stupid flower crown?"

He shrugged, "Kept things interesting."

"I didn't want it." She said plainly.

"Oh, you made that perfectly clear."

"Good." She said. "You ruined everything. My mother is going to yell at me now, and stick me in dresses and do my hair. She'll say I embarrassed the family and then she'll put Sansa even higher up on her little pedestal. I'd almost gotten away with it and then you had to ruin everything!"

"Arya, Tommen recognized his own armour. You fought with your own sword, your sister and father have both seen it, and so have I! No one had seen you all day! How stupid did you think we all were that we wouldn't figure it out on our own?"

"Nobody else would've known!" She shouted, standing up on the wall and towering over him. "I didn't care if my family figured it out. But if everyone else knew, that's what mattered. And they wouldn't have you hadn't revealed me to 'keep things interesting'! You embarrassed my family, not me! If my mother and father had figured it out they might've been mad. I would've gotten maybe a few days stuck next to Septa Mordane, an hour or two of sewing and a couple of lunches and tea times. Now it's going to be a outrage, a scandal. That's on you."

"That's all that matters to you right now? That you got in a bit more trouble than you thought you would? You're such a child! Do you even realize what happened out there today?"

"Yes."

"Do you?"

"Yes!" She shouted. "You fucked everything up!"

"I chose you!" He shouted.

"And what? So what, Gendry? Is that supposed to make me feel blessed? Humbled? Special? Should I be crying and kissing your feet? Should I be thanking my great, future king for bestowing on me such a wonderful opportunity that I didn't ask for? That I didn't want?!" She said, slowly, she climbed down and pounced from the wall. Her steps towards him were determined and hard, leaving boot prints in the dirt. "You know me! You know that this isn't something I would ask for, or dream about. I'm not Sansa, or Myrcella, or Margaery Tyrell! I don't go to bed every night with images of princes and knights and songs in my head. I dream of swords, and fights and the road back home. And nobody knows that better than you."

He was silent for several minutes. She stormed up to him in her fit and even though he was looking down at her she still seemed as tall as when she'd been standing on that wall. And she made sense. He'd known she wouldn't want it, deep down inside. But he'd wanted her to. And maybe if he tossed her that crown she would've been that person, through some strange twist of fate, she might've transformed into her. But that wasn't her. Sansa had tried to warn him and he hadn't listened.

Finally, his eyes met hers.

"What if I could give you that?" He asked.

"Give me what?" Was her reply.

"Life. A life, in the North, undisturbed, unadulterated. Just freedom and you. Is that what you'd want?"

"No one can actually do that." She said, kicking dirt around with her feet.

"A king can."

She scoffed and took off for the exit. "You're only a prince."

"Not for long." He said, standing alone next to the Heart Tree.

* * *

 

The next morning Sansa woke up to a Hall full of smiles.

Her Septa, her mother, the Queen, Maragery, and Myrcella all sat with expectant eyes and upturned lips. Servants bustled around them, carrying chairs and tables and heavy decorations.

"Good morning." She said, trying to sound cheery. She couldn't have felt worse.

"Good morning, Sansa." The Queen said, forcing a smile of her own. It was strained and awkward.

"What's happening?" She asked looking around.

"We're preparing for my wedding feast." Margaery said with a smile, next to her the Queen feigned a smile too. "The ceremony will take place tonight."

"That's... fast." Sansa said carefully. Margaery's smile pretended to falter, it felt like a warning. "I'm so excited for you." She said, rushing to hold her friend's hand.

"Look, we have something." Myrcella said, grabbing her attention. She produced a blue flower crown from under the table. "It's all fixed and beautiful."

"It's for you, darling." Margaery said.

"But why?" She asked, carefully.

"To replace the one Gendry ruined yesterday." Myrcella explained. "I thought it would be a nice gesture."

"And why is it being given to me?" She asked.

Cersei flexed her hand on the table and spoke again. "As a symbol of your engagement. You are to be engaged to my son, not quite the one you were expecting, I'm sure, but, well, plans change." Margaery's eyes fell and Septa Mordane cleared her throat. "You will wear it for the day, keep it close afterwards, and your engagement will be announced within the next few days."

"This is what you all want?" Sansa asked.

Myrcella and Margaery nodded eagerly. The older women were silent.

Eventually her mother smiled carefully and said, "It's what the Prince wants, Sansa. He came to see me this morning. He said you two talked and he agrees with everything you said. Whatever you told him yesterday seemed to make a great impact on him."

Sansa nodded, remembering one of the finer points she had made. This engagement was everything she and Arya wanted, what they needed. Her fingers clutched tightly to the crown and she felt a thorn stab her palm. She winced and pulled her hand away, revealing a thin trail of red blood flowing down her wrist.

"Oh dear," Septa cooed. "I thought I'd gotten them all out." She disappeared to find something to clean the wound.

"This is everything we've been hoping for, Sansa." Margaery smiled, grabbing Sansa's hands and holding them tight. The two girls embraced.

"And we'll be sisters!" Myrcella said, joining the hug.

Cersei turned to Catelyn, her tone serious. "We'll announce to the city tomorrow night. We should have several weddings to look forward to in the next month. What a great time to be in the Capital."

"Of course." Catelyn agreed with a smile.

"On the topic of Arya," She began, she stopped when Catelyn placed a hand on hers.

"You already have three weddings to worry about," She said softly, "Let's leave that topic for another day."

"An excellent idea." The Queen agreed. "Now, if you'll excuse me. I will have to continue to fight with the Dornish over travel arrangements." She nodded curtly before exiting the Hall, brushing past Ned Stark along the way.

He took in the scene: his daughter smiling, a bountiful blue flower crown placed on top of her red hair, her friends surrounding her cooing cheerfully. And his wife who's smile disappeared as she walked towards him.

"Ned, before you say anything I-"

"I suppose this explains Gendry's near silence at the Council meeting today."

"He came to me, Ned. I'm quite surprised to learn he didn't come to you first." Catelyn said, placing her hand on her husband's arm.

"Has Robert been told?" He asked.

"I suppose not. I believe Cersei will tell him when she next sees him."

"Gods help her." Ned muttered under his breath.

"Shouldn't it be good news? I know Robert had his heart settled on Arya marrying Gendry, the reason... well we all know why, but surely the fact that this is Gendry's choice will tell him."

"That won't matter. To Robert this will still reek of Cersei. They are vicious to each other, Cat. Cersei pairing Joff with the Tyrells, Robert shipping Myrcella off to Dorne. Gendry is the last straw and she broke him. Wore him down for her own purposes."

"Let that lie for now, Ned. Can't we take a moment to be happy for our good graces? Sansa is all but betrothed to be the next queen. Arya has been given the gift of more time, to be acquainted with the city, the people, perhaps to return to the North once more."

"Cat, consider what we're marrying our daughter into."

"The most powerful family in Westeros?" She said.

"Not just that..." Ned's eyes fell away from her. "Not even that."

"What do you mean?" Cat asked, stooping to make her husband's eyes meet hers. "Ned, you have to explain yourself. You've been so absent since we've arrived. Mentally and physically, always locking yourself away with your books in that small council room. Tell me what's going on. Please, Ned."

"I can't, not yet, not until I'm certain that what I'm thinking it true."

"Are we safe here?" Cat asked, her voice laced in worry.

Ned looked around before whispering his response. "For now."

* * *

 

Gendry hadn't spoken to Ned Stark all day.

Not because he'd been avoiding him. Or because he was afraid. But because he was simply too busy to find Ned. Although he hadn't been able to make himself meet Ned's eye at the Small Council meeting that morning. After that he'd been out in the city trying to find one man: Thoros of Myr.

Deep in the recesses of the Keep, Beric Dondarrion was lying almost dead on a table, surrounded by his closest friends, the King and his Hand, and now, the Prince and the Red Priest.

Gendry burst into the room and shut the door behind him, glancing at Lord Stark for only a moment before returning his attention to his father.

"I found him." He said. Thoros moved silently to his friend's side.

"Can you help him?" The King asked.

"Did anyone see you?" Ned asked Gendry.

Thoros replied yes, Gendry replied no.

"Why does that matter?" Gendry asked. No one answered him.

Thoros lifted the tunic from Beric's stomach and revealed the oozing, green tinted wound underneath.

"Can you save him?" Robert asked.

The Red Priest recovered the wound and looked up at his King. "Perhaps it's time to let him lie, your Grace. He's been through enough already."

"And he'll go through more." The King replied.

Ned's approach was much softer, "He may be needed in the upcoming weeks, for the same purposes he's served the last few days."

Thoros' eyes drifted to Gendry.

"What's going on?" The Prince asked. He's eyes shifted from his father, to Lord Stark, down to Beric's nearly dead body. "He was protecting me?"

Ned nodded, "He was protecting you."

"And with good reason." Robert said. "This is not just a wound, my boy, that was done with a poison soaked sword. Someone tried to kill you."

"Anyone we didn't know, anyone we didn't trust, you didn't fight."

"So I didn't win fairly, then?" Was his reply.

"Try to focus on the more pressing matter, your Grace." Ned said carefully.

"The man who wounded Beric Dondarrion fought you only an hour later. He was stabbed with the poisoned sword before the man could get to you and you fought the knight before he could recover his sword."

"He almost had you before the small knight... before Arya tossed Loras sword to you."

"She's quick one, that one is." Robert said with a laugh.

"She is." Gendry said sadly.

Ned glanced nervously between the father and son.

Thoros' voice broke the tension, "He's dead." He said, pressing his ear to his friend's chest and a hand to his wrist.

Gendry stared down at the body of his father's friend, until a thunderous clap from his father broke the calm.

"Well, we've done it before. Let's do it again." Robert said. They moved to either side of the Lightening Lord. Lem and Anguy held down his legs while Ned and Tom Sevenstrings grabbed his arms. Robert stood at his head and nodded to Thoros to begin.

Thoros of Myr placed his hands on Beric's wound and raised his head up, praying to R'hllor to save this man, to bring him back.

Gendry watched in sheer disbelief. Thinking his father to be drunk, that Ned must be mad, that all these men he'd respected minutes ago had purely lost their senses.

And then Beric's chest rose, with the slowest, weakest of breaths. His lips quivered as air went in and out, his lungs slowly growing steady with each new breath.

"Unbelievable." Gendry said, stepping back.

"And much calmer than last time." Anguy said, the other men let go of his body and began to back away.

"Thoros, how are you?" Robert asked, the man's limp body was collapsed on the table next to Beric's steadily rising one.

"Is he?" Gendry asked, unable to finish the sentence.

"No, just a little tired." Lem assured him.

"You should've seen it last time," Tom laughed. "Last time he-"

Beric rose all of a sudden, shot up like a bolt of lightening, and grabbed the sword from Thoros sheath and swinging it madly about the room. Everyone backed up and hugged the walls.

"Well, exactly this happened." Tom said.

Beric jumped from the table and looked about wildly. Behind him, Thoros rose slowly.

"Beric Dondarrion." He said firmly, though his appearance was pale and weak. "Your name is Beric Dondarrion, you are the Lightening Lord, the Lord of Blackhaven. You fought in the Single Combat Trials, and protected your Prince when you took the blow of poisoned sword." Beric looked down at his abdomen, and lifted his tunic to reveal the fully healed flesh beneath, only a long red-green scar remained.

"You brought me back again?" He shouted, his sword still raised.

"You knew the risks." The King shouted back.

"I was prepared to give my life, I was not prepared to have it given back." He said.

"You're work here isn't done."

"When will it be?" Beric asked. "Hmm?"

Robert glared at the man with the raised sword. "When your King says it is." That ended the conversation. Beric lowered his sword and sat on the table.

"And what happens now?" Beric said. Thoros rose and joined him, still looking weak.

"Now you tell me who is trying to kill me." Gendry said, hoping to command as much authority as his father had moments ago.

Everyone looked at him uncertainly. Ned spoke first, "Not until we're certain."

"And what until then?" He asked.

"Until then, you're safe." Ned said. "You just worry about your upcoming betrothal." He placed a hand on the Prince's shoulder and offered him half-hearted smile.

"Your what?!" Robert shouted. "You finally did it? I suppose the flower crown did the trick! And she accepted? Excellent news son, excellent news!" Robert exclaimed.

"Quite the celebration to be had." Thoros said with a weak smile.

"He's going to marry Sansa." Ned said. "Cersei's planning an announcement sometime tomorrow."

"We need to work quickly, then." Robert said, more soberly than Gendry had ever seen him.

The two left the room immediately, nothing more was said to Gendry. All his father offered him was an angry grimace before slamming the door in his retreat.

Silence fell into the room.

"Do you suppose he's gone to get the wine?" Tom asked, inciting a laugh from the group.

Gendry, hoping to temporarily forget his troubles, laughed along with the rest of them. "And how exactly are you alive now?" He asked Beric Dondarrion.

"The Lord of Light works in mysterious and intriguing ways." Thoros said, rolling his eyes and sharing a smile with his newly resurrected friend.

"I suppose I should thank you for saving my life, then." Gendry said, offering Beric a hand to shake.

"Of course, your Grace. Just like I saved your father's before you, and gladly would again."

Gendry looked around, confused.

"Not my first time." Thoros said with a wink.

"Hopefully it will be the last." Gendry said.

* * *

 

The Sept was filling up quickly the next morning, in preparation for the ceremony. And everything was perfect, which surprised Sansa considering how quickly it had been put together.

Everything looked beautiful, the Sept was lit by the setting sun, casting golden shades of glass across the room, glittering with the warmth of the ending summer.

Sansa watched the final preparations through teary eyes. The Septa was waiting by the door to instruct them all on when to release the doves. At the exact moment when the doors open and Margaery and Joffrey emerged as a newly betrothed royal couple. That's how she would've planned it. That's how her wedding would've been. She wiped away a single tear from her cheek, trying to be subtle.

Until a piece of cloth was put in front of her face. She accepted it and looked up to find Gendry.

"Thank you, your Grace."

"I thought it would be best for us to sit together." He said, looking around. "To keep up appearances." She moved the flower crown from the bench to her lap and let him sit down. "And you can call me Gendry."

"I'll try to, your Grace."

He chuckled, "Arya called me Gendry the first time she met me."

"She also thought you were someone else entirely," Sansa fought back, "Didn't she?" She wasn't sure why she was being mean to the Prince. Her prince. Perhaps it was his obvious dismissal of her, or the fact that he so blatantly favoured her sister and it made her bitter, perhaps it was the image or Robert and Cersei sitting tersely just a few rows ahead, and how it looked like her future. It might've been that she was sitting in a lavish, Southron wedding about to watch one of her very best friends marry the boy she thought she would be marrying. She just didn't feel like herself at all today. "You're whole relationship was based off a lie."

Gendry shook his head, not believing it to be true. "And our meeting wasn't? When we met on the steps of the Keep you were primed and ready to decide which royal prince you would choose to be your husband. Let me tell you a secret, Sansa. They were never going to let you choose. It was an illusion that they would let any of us choose, let alone you."

Sansa stared straight ahead, her eyes boring into the back of the Queen's intricately woven hair.

"Is this how it's always going to be?" She asked. "You reminiscing about my sister, pining after her, and calling me stupid until we're both miserable."

She turned to look at him and he seemed to be dumbfounded. She leaned in close and whispered, "I don't want to be them." directing his attention to the King and Queen. They weren't even speaking to each other.

"I don't want to be them either." Gendry said, his voice dryer and more real than she had ever heard it. She looked into his blue eyes and found them to be clear and honest.

"Let's not be." She said.

He nodded and leaned back, "I can't promise anything to you, Sansa. Not deep, true love, or blissful happiness, or songs and dreams. But I can be your friend. And I'll keep you safe, and try and make you happy. This may not be what either of us were expecting, but that doesn't mean we can't rule this country well, together."

She nodded. He was right, this wasn't what either one wanted. But this was what the gods had dealt them, and they could be friends. She smiled and shook his hand.

They would be friends. They would be allies. And they would rule well together. And Arya could be free.

And though he couldn't make any promises, they would be together forever, and friendship could become something more.

Her parents arrived then, with Arya in tow. She was squirming uncomfortably in a blue knit dress.

"It took all my mother's strength not to strangle her into that dress this morning. Have you talked to her since the tournament?"

"I haven't even seen her since that night." He said. "She yelled at me in the godswood before storming off."

"She does enjoy doing that." Sansa mused. "At least now you can tell her the good news, that we're going to try to get her back home, back to Winterfell."

Gendry nodded and smiled, Sansa really did try to see the best in everything. And Arya couldn't even give him a moments notice.

The rest of the guests took their seats and then the ceremony began.

Margaery entered, looking beautiful in a white gown with gold roses embroidered throughout it. Sansa couldn't help but tear up as she walked to hold hands with Joffrey, in front of the Septon.

"I've never wanted to punch him more." Gendry said, his eyes following Joffrey as he took Margaery's hand and led her further. He stood under the light of the falling sun as it shone in through the window. His hair looked golden and his skin seemed to glow. Sansa couldn't help but think he looked handsome. She cursed herself for thinking so.

But Margaery looked beautiful, and happy, and proud. And so Sansa focused on being happy for her.

And then there was Gendry. Gendry who'd reached out, and who right now she wanted more than anything to become friends with.

"He does look all puffed up and ridiculous." She whispered.

She could see his smile growing out of the corner of her eyes.

"Sorry, Gendry, I'm not good at this." She laughed.

"You're alright, Sansa." He smiled back.

When the ceremony finished the newlyweds left hand in hand with ridiculously wide grins covering their faces. Doves flew and the crowd roared, the Queen's smile even looked somewhat genuine.

And although almost no one noticed, Sansa left with Gendry by her side and the flower crown on her head.

By the end of that night, Sansa Stark would be betrothed.

With the celebratory feast still going on below and the moon risen high in the dark sky, Ned tried to reason with the King in the Small Councel room.

"He can't marry her." The King said, pacing back and forth across the floor.

"Robert," Ned chastised.

"I know she's your daughter, Ned, but so is the other one." He picked his cup from the table and swallowed the last of his drink before pouring himself another. "And we can't, we can't let history repeat itself. But she got in there and ruined it all. Vile woman."

"I understand why your upset Robert, but this isn't only Cersei's doing. Your son came to my wife and told her this is what he wanted."

"He's lying." Robert said.

"He has no reason to. This was entirely his choice." Ned said.

"Well she must've gotten to him, somehow. This isn't what he would've chosen."

"Robert, whether or not this was his choice is not the most important issue we're dealing with right now-"

"Maybe it is, maybe he-" Ned was interrupted by a knock on the door.

"Sorry to intrude." Cersei said, shutting the door behind her. "I just wanted to share the good news." Her face was flat, anything but jovial.

"You." Robert sneered. "You did this."

"I did nothing." She said.

"You did everything!" He yelled. "Why? Why did you do it?"

The king and queen stared at each other for a good long while, with Ned observing from the sidelines.

Cersei scoffed and broke eye contact first, "Honestly Robert, you're too paranoid." She waved him away and brushed past Robert, past the table to the window, overlooking the city. "We have three children married of in a month, isn't that a celebration? Or do you have to throw a fit because everything didn't go just as you planned?" She turned back to look at him, eyebrows raised.

"You ruined everything, for your own cruel pleasure." Robert growled.

Cersei's arms swept over the table of books, eyes glancing for only a moment at the words on each page. She moved the wine glass away from the table's edge. "You sent my daughter away for yours." She slammed one of the large books shut. "I simply made sure you would have the opportunity to watch your son suffer."

Quickly, Robert reached out and struck her. It left a red slash across her face.

She smiled and wiped the blood from her lip. "We're all suffering, aren't we? Not for too much longer." She whipped around and left the room.

Ned waited in silence for his friend to speak. He wouldn't. "Robert, what are you-"

"Tomorrow, Ned." The King said, not turning around to meet his friend. "Tonight I plan to go to bed. In the morning we will sort out all my son's new problems." He grabbed his cup and went to leave the room.

"What about the other problem? The bastard problem?" Ned asked as Robert gripped the door handle tightly.

"Tomorrow." Was the King's last word.


	12. Reminders

The next morning, the Prince woke with his eyes in a blur. There was a beam of light standing over him, a glowing, golden haze. When his eyes focused in, he realized it was Cersei, watching him sleep.

"Morning, mother." He grumbled, sitting up in his bed. Cersei held her hand out and he stopped moving. She stood over him, lips set in a firm, rigidly straight line. "How long have you been standing there?"

"Not long." She said, fixing her skirts and sitting next to his bedside. "You know, I appreciate everything you've given me. You've been a constant reminder of how much love I have for my children."

"Oh really?" He asked.

She attempted a smile. "Seeing you with Myrcella, and Tommen, and how you make them laugh, how they enjoy being around you, perhaps even love you. But I am their mother and I know what's best and I know they deserve better than you. Myrcella, so beautiful and gentle, and she's got a life in Dorne to look forward to, thanks to you. And Joffrey, my oldest son, my boy, he is the rightful heir to the throne. Not you, you base, bastard boy."

"Ah, so that's what this is about."

"I should've killed you the day Robert's little bitch brought you to the Keep's back steps."

"What's stopped you, you've had plenty of opportunities since?" He said.

Cersei scoffed, "You think I haven't tried? Robert has seen to your safety at every possible moment. But not much longer. All of his whoring around over the last decade, i've seen to it that there are no more... traces lying about. And now he's gone too."

Gendry sat bolt upright in his bed. "What?"

"Your King passed away in his sleep this morning after a bad bottle of wine poisoned him. Grand Maester Pycelle would normally check his body to find the cause of death but he's been sent out of the city on urgent duty. I've selected Qyburn to do the honours." She stood and swirled her skirts around. "Naturally, the city will be in a uproar, and the country soon after that. But your betrothal to Sansa Stark should quell some of the fear. I suppose now we'll see how long you can last."

* * *

 

Arya wasn't sure if she'd gotten any sleep that night. She kept replaying it all in her mind.

Her mother shuffling her along from the guest tower, to the Sept for the ceremony, to the feast afterwards. The itchy, uncomfortable dress, the hours of yelling after Gendry unmasked her at the tournament.

She noticed Gendry and her sister sitting together when she entered the Sept and when she asked if she could go join them her mother told her no, which was fine because after a second thought Arya realized she didn't really want to be near Gendry anyways. She asked why they were sitting together but her mother and father only looked awkwardly at each other before telling Arya to quiet down for the ceremony.

Next was the feast. She remembered tugging at the sleeve of her dress when suddenly Sansa and Gendry were up before everyone, holding hands and wearing shy smiles. It looked so posed to her. And someone had produced a brand new blue flower crown for her to wear.

She looked happy and very beautiful. She was getting everything she wanted.

Arya felt her mother's hand on her shoulder but she turned to her father and looked up at him.

His eyes drifted to the doorway and together they walked out. She wondered if drunkeness felt like this. If perhaps she'd accidentally drunk from one of her parents' wine cups instead of her own which was filled with water. Was it this inability to put one foot in front of the other, this tightness in the chest. "Yes." She whispered to herself. "I must be very drunk. As drunk as the King."

They didn't speak, that was the great thing about walking with her father, sometimes they didn't need to. He walked her aimlessly around the castle's halls for what felt like hours. She might've told him what she was thinking and how she felt, but she couldn't put it into words, she wasn't even sure she understood it. She didn't want to think about it.

Eventually, they wound up in the Godswood. He asked her not to run instead of telling and for once she promised she wouldn't. Instead she just sat there, in the closest place she had to home. She let her mind go blank until she fell asleep against the crisp white bark of the Weirwood.

She wasn't sure how she got to her bed that night. But the next morning she was seated on her father's work table, bright and early. She felt like she hadn't seen him in weeks, he'd been so busy with his new duties as the Hand. The previous night had been the only time she'd seen him without being scolded. She could tell her mother was worried about him, he looked so tired and worn out, Arya noticed it too.

Her father had this look in his eye, like he was about to yell at her, and she wondered if his calm silence last night had been holding some kind of disappointed anger at bay... but father never yelled. She'd padded in silently, catlike as always, and then hopped up on the table, covered in books and waited patiently for him to speak.

But he didn't.

"I-"

"How are the dancing lessons going?"

She stared up at him, eyes wide and confused. "They're good."

"They looked like they were paying off."

She felt her face get hot, memories of the tourney came flooding back into her mind. Her mother had given her an earful, or twenty, on this topic already. But her father had remained silent. Now he was going to let her have it. She tried to picture him in the stands that day but her memory fell short. She wondered what it must've looked like from the outside, or how her family must've felt when she tore her helmet off.

"You fought well." He smiled.

"Were you mad?" She asked in her small, childlike voice.

"I was... caught off guard." He said. "Your mother was more caught off guard. But mostly, I was impressed. Not proud mind you, but I came to terms quite a while back that you will never be the girl who happily puts on her skirts and sits in the stands. You would be stuffed into them and made to mask a grimace with a strained smile. You won't marry a high lord and rule his castle."

Arya smiled, "No, that's not me."

Ned chuckled, "That's not you. You will always fight for what you want. And one day, you will take care of yourself, and do what you want as you always have."

"I will." Arya nodded. She was determined. She would be all she needed, and she would find her way back North.

"Although," Her father continued. "When the time comes, let Gendry take care of you too."

"What? Why? He's not my friend. And soon he'll be married to Sansa and then he'll have to care for her." Arya said. "Besides, I'm not planning on staying in King's Landing much longer."

"Oh, is that right?"

She nodded proudly, and his smile broke through. "I'm going to steal you away and take you back up North where you can be happy again."

"And I'm sure you could do it. But it's my lot to remain here so long as the King needs me. Just like it's your lot to listen to your mother when she tells you to put on a dress and let her comb out your hair. And just like it's Sansa's lot to marry into the royal family. We must follow our lot in life."

"Not me." She declared.

"No, probably not you." Ned said with a tired laugh. "But not all of us are that strong."

"You are." She said, staring up at him wide eyed.

"Perhaps I once was." He answered. "You're strong enough for the both of us. And so is Sansa, and Gendry. And since he _is_  your friend, will be your King as well as your good-brother, promise me when the time comes, you will listen to him and heed his advice."

She stared at him in disbelief, "Why should I?"

"Because he means well, and he means well for you. He will see to it that you are safe and happy." Ned said, urging his daughter out of the room with a soft tap on the back. Arya hopped off the table and felt him guide her out, not sure why he was suddenly so quick to get rid of her.

"Why are you telling me this now?" She asked.

"Because, it's a lesson you need to learn. You may be different from the rest, you may think you don't need anyone, but just because you think something doesn't make it true. Don't be afraid to let someone help you, especially when you need it."

"But-"

"Arya." He said, stopping her words. "Promise me you'll try to trust him?"

"Fine. I'll try." Arya said, looking up at her father. "I promise."

He ruffled her hair, just like Jon used to do. "Thank you." Then he reached down and hugged her, it lasted long, and he held her tight and when it was over Arya glanced up at him in childlike confusion.

"You're welcome." She said, laughing at how serious he was being. Even more so than usual.

He smiled his sad smile and opened the door for her to continue down the hall.

She didn't make it far before she felt herself crash into someone else. She looked up and found Gendry. How could she trust him with anything when she couldn't even trust him to not step on her feet?

"Hi." She said, skeptically.

"I don't have time to talk, I have to see your father now." He said, bouncing anxiously from foot to foot, staring at the door over her shoulder.

"Fine," She countered, rolling her eyes and brushing past him. "I don't want to talk to you anyways."

He took off like a shot down the hall. Arya scoffed and sauntered on, "Trust has to be earned."

* * *

 

Gendry heard about it from Anguy, in the dungeon where they'd revived Beric only a few days ago.

"Last night the gold cloaks stormed the city, breaking into the poor villages homes, the brothels, the bars, even the one Lem and I were in. Course he was passed out and I was... otherwise engaged. Otherwise I might've done something about it."

"How many?" Gendry asked.

"Numbers are a tricky business when you're talking about the illegal, covert murders of bastards. It's not usually something people keep close track of." He was dodging the question.

"How many?" Gendry asked, the skin of his fist grating against the table's wood.

Anguy straightened up immediately. "Some say as many as sixty. Some are saying upwards of a hundred. Knowing the king, I'd reckon it could be anywhere between the two. He was a virile man, gods save his soul."

Gendry grimaced and Thoros placed a hand on Anguy's shoulder, pulling him back.

"He was a good man, your Grace."

Now, Gendry wasn't so sure. He'd always known his father wasn't the best king the Seven Kingdoms had ever seen, but between his conversation with Cersei before dawn, and the revelations Anguy had provided later on, his world felt shattered.

He walked into Ned Stark's offices, and sat silently at the table.

"So all the bastards are dead." he said.

Ned's eyes widened but he quickly adjusted to the topic.

"Not quite..." He said softly. "A few remain, a few Cersei wasn't able to get her hands on."

"Where?" Gendry asked.

"The Vale. We believe there's one out there somewhere. And Stannis has been raising one, safe and sound in Storm's End."

Gendry scoffed, "Course he has. Uncle Stannis never did warm too much to the idea of the Capital. I've never even met my little cousin."

"There may even be more. Robert travelled all over the Seven Kingdoms, during the Rebellion, and tours of the country."

"Is this why you're here? To bring all this up? To help him keep his mistakes covered up? So the Lannisters wouldn't have something to hold over him?"

"Partially..."

"Was I the other half?" Gendry asked, eyes clear he watched as Lord Stark paced before him. "Because I'm a bastard too?"

Ned stopped pacing.

"How long have you known?"

"My whole life." He said. "Cersei's rarely manages to actually be subtle in her complete dislike of a person and her total hatred of me hasn't been well hidden over the last seventeen years. I've never heard her really admit it though, we both just always quietly acknowledged it. Until this morning." Ned waited expectantly for him to continue, "She was waiting in my room this, watching me sleep." His eyes clouded over, "She's going to kill me next, isn't she? Just like all the other bastards."

Now Ned seemed to flinch at the word. Gendry supposed it was difficult for the man to hear, Ned had believed in him, supported him, Ned had wanted him to be King, and he'd made Gendry want it too. And now that life was slipping away.

"I'm sending my wife back to Winterfell." Ned said. "And ensuring my daughters have safe passage back home too. To send them out all at once is too risky. Especially with the engagement we've just announced between you and Sansa. Still, I need them out of this city." He paused. "A few nights ago, Lady Stark asked me if we were safe here. We're not, not anymore. I know too much and now my family is in danger. There are two choices before me: I can continue the work of Jon Arryn, and your father and expose Cersei for what she's done, or I can wait here and end up just like them."

"What has she done?" Gendry asked. "Aside from the murders she's ordered today. What's her motive?"

"She's threatened by you, that much is sure. That's why she arranged for Margaery to marry Joffrey, that leaves you with Sansa. It severs the ties between the North and the crown, between Robert and his old allies. Plus, once you were out of the way, Joffrey would be primed to become king. He's Robert's next born son, and with a new wife by his side accompanied by her powerful, wealthy, Southron House. She wants to see her natural born children on the throne."

"Then why not just expose me? Why set me up for failure, why play this game with the King and let Myrcella be sent to Dorne? Why allow the engagement to go on between your House and mine? Why not just take me, as a small baby and hold me over the gates of the city for all to see before smashing my head against it like the Mad King did all those years ago?"

"The Mad King ordered the deaths of natural born children, actually."

Gendry quelled the rage that was storming inside him. "What's so important for her to hide that she kept his secret too?"

"That's what you're father and I were trying to figure out." Ned said sadly.

They sat in silence then, neither could keep the image of the dead king from entering their minds.

"When will your daughters be leaving?" He asked, clearing his throat.

"Catelyn began to prepare for the road home as soon as we heard the news, she should be out of the Capital before the night is over. She'll leave as discretely as possible with two of my men from the North. I plan to sneak the girls from the city soon after. Sansa will go North to the Vale where she will meet with her Aunt Lysa, until Cat arrives."

"And Arya?" Gendry asked.

Ned smiled despite himself "She'll be sent to Storm's End. I've sent news to you Uncle Stannis and he's agreed to support he opposition of the Lannisters in King's Landing. And he'll protect my daughter, she's to become a companion for your cousin, Shireen."

He nodded, unsure of both what to say and how he felt.

"And you? Surely, you're in as much danger as I am."

"I'll leave once my work here is done. I made a promise to your father, and the events of last night, of the last few weeks, are only proof that things will only fall apart even more if someone leaves."

Gendry nodded,

"It's dangerous for us to be seen together, your Grace. If the queen should think you've been helping me, I-"

"No offense, my lord, but I'm already as good as dead. And that's not going to stop me from trying to help you. She can come at me and make any claims that she wants, this is still my city."

Ned nodded and smiled, "No one could ever doubt that you are Robert's son."

* * *

 

Dinner was solemn that night, and there was no feast.

They just all looked so fake to him. Cersei barely looked upset, Jaime and Tyrion looked indifferent, and probably were. As were the Tyrells. The kings guard just looked hungry and tired. And his children, the children of Robert Baratheon, Myrcella was sniffling into her plate, Tommen hadn't uttered a word all night, and Joffrey was all but his usual self. Though a paler, shakier version.

They didn't even look like his children. Why weren't they shaking with anger? Where was their fury? How could they sit next to the woman who'd orchestrated the murder of their father? Their king? Because they don't know, he reminded himself, Because you are the future king, despite whatever they might try to do to you, and it is your responsibility to know these things, his eyes passed over his two youngest siblings. You know so they don't have to.

He wished he could eat with the Starks, up in their guest towers. He wished he could ask Ned to tell him stories of his and Robert's youth. He wished he could apologize to Lady Stark, and to Sansa. That he could comfort her for all the trials she'd been put through, and all the false hope. And he wanted to hear Arya's laugh, one last time before she was sent off somewhere safe. He wanted to tell her that he wished he could've been the one to keep her safe, but he didn't know how to do that for himself at the moment.

Gendry ate quickly, before pulling a few bottles of wine from the kitchens and sitting out in the gardens, drinking and staring up at the stars.

He was alone for a long time when he finally heard another's voice.

"You're a spitting image of him, you know?" His Uncle Tyrion... though he was not his uncle, he supposed, waddles down into the gardens and sat next to him. "Not so much as he is now, all purple, and bloated and slightly decaying."

Gendry nearly threw up in his mouth.

"You look like him as he was, right after his glorious and triumphant rebellion, when he still drank for pleasure."

Gendry scoffed, "He always drank for pleasure."

"No," Tyrion corrected, "After a while, he drank for very different reasons. Like father like son, it would seem."

"Well, someone has to carry on the great Baratheon tradition."

"The Baratheons hardly have a monopoly on drunkeness, though you are the sloppiest drunks. And it would seem you're the only one able to take up the job."

"Well there are so few of us left, thanks to your sister."

"I told you, you're chess pieces. and she had the opportunity to wipe out the whole board, leaving Robert's king vulnerable." Tyrion looked around himself carefully, "Speaking of vulnerability, you'd do well to not get drunk quite this publicly. You are hardly a discreet man."

"She's going to kill me anyway, why should I bother with carefulness?"

"Because carefulness will get you killed a lot slower."

Gendry cringed, misinterpreting his non-uncle's meaning.

Still he knew what he was doing was stupid. But just now he felt like a child, not a man, not a king, a child who had lost his father, and more, all in one day.

"I never even met my mother." Gendry said, staring at the harsh, dusty path under his feet.

Tyrion didn't deny it, or pretend to not understand, of course everyone understood, of course everyone knew. But no one admitted, or acknowledge the truths.

"You met her once." He said, catching Gendry by surprise.

"I did?" He asked.

Tyrion grabbed the second bottle of wine and drank heavily from it.

"You weren't supposed to, mind you, but she showed up one day, outside the stables, down by the Street of Steel begging to speak with the King. As luck would have it you were walking by just then with your septon, plain as day, she knew you were hers. She knocked down two kings guards to get to you. They thought she was going to kill you, and we tried to drag you back into the Keep but she pushed past us too, scooped you up in her arms and spun you around. There is really nothing greater than a mother's love for her son. You were about five at the time. Once I realized who she was I tried to clear the courtyard, and the septon went off to find your father. He wasn't a terrible man, though there were some who thought of him like that. He offered her money, and in repayment for her continued cooperation, she got to see you."

"I remember her." He said slowly. He had this vision, though it was so foggy, and he was quite drunk, but he could practically feel the memory on the tips of his fingers.

There was a woman, with long, yellow hair, and face so warm and lit up with excitement. And she'd cradled him in her arms and he could remember as everyone around him paused, and the world seemed to hang there for a minute, tense and steady, but he didn't care about that because this woman was holding him and kissing his cheeks and crying but laughing at the same time and he didn't understand it. Why was she crying when they were both so happy? He was laughing and holding onto her and she stayed down there with him in the stables until the sun started to set. And his father was there too, smiling and laughing and paying no mind to whatever else was happening. And all it was was that one day.

"She never came back." He said.

"No, she didn't." Tyrion said, his voice showed no hint of emotion. "She fell sick shortly after, we couldn't risk her entering the castle grounds."

"And then she died." He said. "And now I'm alone."

Tyrion had no words of comfort for him now. Instead he stood, leaving the half-full bottle next to his nephew.

"We're all alone here."

* * *

 

Sansa and Arya were wandering the castle. Both had a terrible feeling they couldn't quite name. They could sense change in the air. Neither of them mentioned the feeling, just linked arm in arm and agreed to stroll the castle's halls together, despite the confusion it caused their mother.

They'd spent the night by her side. Now she was gone and it made them terribly sad. Their father had explained it to them that night at dinner, and afterwards the Starks had stayed their in the Keep's guest towers together knowing they wouldn't see each other for a long time.

Catelyn would leave in the wee hours of the night, accompanied by Jory Cassel and some of her father's other men. Arya would be snuck out of the castle three days later, with the remained of her father's guards. She would be taken to Dragonstone and live under the protection of Gendry's Uncle Stannis. Sansa would leave a few days after, taking the seaward route up to The Vale with a childhood friend of her mother's Petyr Baelish. She could tell her father felt anxious about the plan but her mother trusted Petyr and Ned trusted her.

Ned would stay in the Capital, ensuring Gendry's safety while working to restore order and peace to the crumbling hierarchy that was the Royal Family. He would leave as soon as he was able.

"I'm sorry you won't be getting your royal wedding." Arya said to Sansa. Her sister had been quiet all night. "Not yet, I suppose."

"Perhaps not ever." Sansa said, her eyes far off in the distance. "After everything we've heard tonight, and learning that mother and father will be apart, that it will be so many months before we are all back in Winterfell, as a family. That hardly feels like it matters."

Arya could hardly believe her ears. "Truly?"

Sansa stopped in her tracks and turned to her sister, "Of course truly."

"I thought you hated Winterfell, and the North." Arya said.

"Perhaps, there were times when I hated it, and times when I didn't appreciate it as I should have. But now that it all feels like it's so far away, so lost, and gone. Now there's nothing I want more than to be back there, yelling at you for dirtying your dresses in the muddy snow." She giggled but Arya was in too much awe to reciprocate. "Now I'm off to meet our aunt in the North, you're going to be in Storm's End with an Uncle none of the Queen's children have ever even met. But they say he's a very strict man. I don't know when any of us will ever see each other again. And I'm afraid."

"Don't be afraid." Arya said, placing a hand on her sister's arm and guiding her along. "Winter is Coming, but we're wolves."

They arrived at the Godswood and stepped inside hoping to find solitude and a hint of home, instead they found their Prince sitting drunkenly against the Heart Tree.

Arya stepped forward either to help or harass him.

"Wait." Sansa said. "You should know, Gendry and I, after our engagement was announced, after he wedding, he was planning on sending you home, we were going to make an official decree keeping you there, saying you didn't have to get married. We wanted to make you Warden of the North."

Arya was even more awestruck now, "Could you even do something like that?"

Sansa shrugged, "We were going to try. He would have, for you." She straightened her skirts and walked on, towards the drunken future king.

"Gendry." She said carefully, feeling Arya's impossibly quiet steps on the dirt ground behind her.

"I have no one." He mumbled into his empty wine bottle.

"Well, that's not true." Sansa said.

"Nah," Gendry groaned, attempting to sit up. "You don't know just how true it is."

"Sansa, he shouldn't be here." Arya said, looking around waiting for someone else to appear. She didn't feel safe out here, she felt like a million eyes were watching.

"I know." Her sister replied. But the Prince would not be moved. "Gendry, don't be silly. You have you're whole family still. Myrcella, and Tommen, and even Joff. And you have you're uncles and your mother the Queen."

Gendry shook his head, a said "You're wrong." With enough spite to make Sasna's lips shut tightly, save for a small, discouraged whimper.

Arya, with steely resolve, stepped forward. "You have us."

Sansa and Gendry both looked at her. Gendry's eyes wide, and blue, and clear.

"Come on," Arya decided. "We'll take him to father. He'll know best what to do."

The two Stark girl lifted up the drunk and dumbstruck prince, finding him to be much heavier than they could've anticipated, and began their trek towards the Tower of the Hand of the King.

They arrived at their father's door. He was alone, with mountains of books, in his study.

"Where's Jory, father?" Sansa asked, looking about and finding no guards posted.

"I would assume, sound asleep in his bed, unlike my two daughters... apparently."

Arya smirked, though it turned to a groan as she attempted to peel Gendry's heavy arm from her shoulder.

"Is he hurt?" Ned asked, easing the Prince into a chair and examining him.

"No just drunk." Arya replied.

"I'm sorry you girls have to see him like this." Ned said, the apology felt familiar on his lips. He'd given it so many times in Robert's place. He shook his head in disappointment. "Gendry?"

"We've seen worse." Sansa said.

"That hardly makes me feel better." Ne replied. He shook the prince gently. "Gendry? Are you awake, your Grace?"

"She's dead." he said.

"Who's dead?" Ned asked.

"My mother." Gendry sobbed.

"The Queen died?" Arya whispered.

"How should I know?" Sansa said, very worried. "I've been next to you all night."

"I remember now, how she came to see me once. My Uncle Tyrion told me tonight, although I suppose, he's not really my uncle."

"What?" Sansa asked quietly.

"Girls," Ned interrupted. "It's time for you to go, this isn't something you need to hear."

"No. Let them stay." Gendry shouted. "They'll all know soon enough anyways. She came to the castle grounds, she wanted to see me, she was going to see me. He made a deal that she could come visit." His words were coming out so fast and Sansa's head was spinning. "I remember her now. She had yellow hair and smelled like beer and flowers. And she was warm and she smiled so big when she saw me. Tyrion says she fought the guards to get to me."

Ned stared at the Prince in disbelief. "You remember your mother?" He asked. Gendry nodded. "And so does your Uncle Tyrion." He nodded again.

Ned said nothing more.

"He's not talking about the Queen at all, is he?" Arya said.

Sansa turned around and ran from the room.

"Sansa!" Arya shouted after her.

"Arya, please go after her. Find her and then you two go back to your rooms together." Ned instructed. "It's too late for either of you to be running around the castle alone."

She nodded and took off after her sister.

Gendry, for his part, was left on the cold floor, with Ned Stark's hands on his shoulders. "Now they know," He laughed bitterly, "And so will everyone else, I'm no royal, I'm just a bastard."

"But perhaps not the only one..." Ned whispered, looking the Prince up and down.

Gendry didn't register any of his words, he was already asleep. Ned lifted the boy up, and after finding it to be quite difficult marvelled at how his two daughters had managed the feat.

Once he was resting silently, Ned returned to the books he'd been pouring over for hours. But he read them with new eyes. And as the light of day spilled into the room, he'd solved the final riddle.

Gendry Baratheon certainly wasn't the only bastard living in the Red Keep's walls.


	13. We All Go The Same

Arya woke before the sun. She couldn't get back to sleep and so the night passed slowly. She sat by the window, watching the city while Sansa slept on the bed. But when the sun rose, so did Arya.

She walked on tip-toe back to where she'd left her father and Gendry and as she turned the corner she saw them parting ways.

Gendry spotted her and walked over, her father smiled at her a sad smile before disappearing into his office. Arya opened her mouth to call out to him but heard the door closed firmly behind him.

And so she was left with Gendry.

"How are you?" She asked cautiously. She hadn't expected this feeling, but she was slightly afraid of him. Mayhaps it was seeing him at his weakest point, and knowing now that he was a man with nothing to lose. And a man with nothing to lose could be dangerous.

He rubbed his eyes, his hair was a shaggy mess of black and his face was shadow with the beginnings of an unkempt beard.

"I remember only pieces of last night." His eyes widened suddenly, "How much did I tell you."

Arya stepped back. "Everything." Gendry's eyes squeeze shut, there were dark circles underneath.

"That's what I was afraid of." He said. "Your father was hesitant to tell me how involved you and Sansa were."

"We found you in the gardens, drinking. We thought it best to get you somewhere safe, considering how much talking you were doing."

"A wise decision on both your parts." He said, grimacing. "Thank you."

"What's gong to happen to you now?" Arya asked. "Sansa was worried." She shifted closer to the wall.

"I've been guessing the answer to that question all morning." He said, he looked afraid, it was the first time she'd really seen him this pale. He was white and ghostly, and he wasn't speaking. And she didn't know how to comfort him.

"I might be sent to Wall, if the Queen is feeling generous. Or..."

The other option hung unspoken between them: Death.

She stood there awkwardly, saying nothing, her brain felt frozen.

"Look, Arry, I feel like I need to... well it's just something I should... just a warning but... things are about to get tense here in the Capital. Your father told me that last night, after I passed out he sent some letter off to Stannis, containing some new information he'd discovered. He says things could go from bad to worse here and when it does-" He was cut off then, those Arya was hardy able to internalize what he was saying. Over his shoulder, she saw the Queen approaching.

She stood down the hall in her massive, flowing gowns, with her braids of golden Lannister hair flowing down the fabric and piled on top of her regal head, ensconcing her small gold crown.

"She doesn't look generous." Arya whispered. The Queen's eyes were unblinking, and pinned straight on Gendry. Then she turned on her heel and entered the Hand's chamber. The guards stayed outside, eyes low and menacing.

"We should go." Gendry said, his voice was quiet. When she turned to him, his face was still pale but he no longer looked flustered and afraid. He looked his usual self, calm and sure. But now she knew what kind of fear he was masking. "We need to go, Arya." He put his hand on her arm and pulled her down the hall. As they rounded the corner Arya could see the guards entering the room.

"They're going after my father." She whispered. Now Arya began to fight. Gendry grabbed both her arms but she continued to buck and kick her feet in his direction, twisting her arms inside his hands, as she pushed against him with every muscle she grown over the last month of sword fighting, she felt her hair fall lose of her braid. "They're going after my father!" She repeated, her voice rising to a scream. "I have to go back, I have to help him!"

"You can't help him, I'm helping you." Gendry muttered. "He knows what he's doing. He's known this whole time."

"What're you saying?!" She continued to fight him, and she wasn't doing to terribly. The girl was strong too. "I have to get back to my father."

"You shouldn't try to fight people who are bigger than you." Gendry said. He ceased fighting her all at once, only to pick her up and bind her legs inside the grip of his strong arms. She could barely wriggle at this point. He hoisted her over his shoulder, holding her legs in one hand and her hands in another. He could feel her squirming, he could tell she was uncomfortable, probably even in pain, but this was what he was supposed to do.

He disappeared into one of the staircases. One of the old, dark, secret ones he'd never told her about, of which there were only three. She'd grown surprisingly still. Strangely still, in fact, and quiet. She'd stopped wriggling altogether except for the pain she must've been in with him twisting her wrists to keep her in place.

At the bottom of the staircase, in the quiet, cold and wet din of the unknown, he put her down, places her gently against the stone wall and gentle shook her, trying to hold her up and keep her feet firmly planted on the ground.

"Arya?" He said gently, trying in the dark to see into her light grey eyes, but he could barely make out her silhouette. "Arya, are you okay?"

He felt a sharp pain to his shin put there by her boot, and then a wisp of air as she pushed past him back to the staircase. He reached out and grabbed her wrist. They struggled, together, both grimacing and whimpering in pain, two equal forces fighting futilely. She got almost halfway up the stairs before he caught her.

"We don't have time for this." Gendry growled. He was being rough, he was being unfair, he was doing what he was told. His teeth gritted together as he strained to get out the words. "We know what we're doing. Right now, you have to come with me."

"No."

"Please?"

Arya laughed at that, though it came out like a growl that matched his. "No." She reached for Needle in his scabbard but barely managed to grab the handle.

He grabbed her head and placed a kiss on top. "I'm sorry about this. But I have my orders."

The room felt darker, perhaps it was how close he was standing, or the fuzzy feeling in her head. Or the fact that she was falling, falling, falling and then his arms caught her and picked her up.

When she woke up, she was placed over someone's shoulder and she was outside. The world was loud, and bright, it sounded like it was one fire, but the only heat she felt was the heat of the sun on her back. Her hair was falling into her eyes and scratching at her face. It had been hacked to bits. She wasn't sure who was carrying her but the minute she looked up she didn't care.

The heat and the noise came from the crowd. People were covering the front of the Red Keep, and at the front doors people were lined up and there was man standing front and centre. It was her father.

"What is my father doing up there?" She asked, a little too loudly.

"Shut up." Whoever it was was shaking her and forcing her to stare down at the ground passing under her feet. "Don't say another word until we're safe."

She did as he said. Her head hurt and she felt too weak to not simply lie against the strong muscles of his back. My father is on his knees at the front of the Red Keep, when will I ever be safe again?

She was silent as they wound through the streets, she got only one more look of the Keep, perhaps, if she was lucky it would be her last. But it was more gruesome than anything she'd experienced there. She saw the sword swing, and her father's head rolling down the steps of the Red Keep. She heard how the people cheered. And one loan voice screaming in pain over all the others, howling and crying. She wished it was hers but couldn't find it in her to make a sound.

As she was dragged through the Street of Steel, the image played over and over before her eyes, until her carrier turned a corner and her head met the back end of away cart. And mercifully, Arya Stark's world went black again.

End Part One


	14. Family Portrait

**AN: Hi... remember me? Sorry it's been SO long. And I can't promise the next on will be along any time soon, though keep your fingers crossed. Chapters will be shorter from now on, as it's just easier to get them out that way, so this one is that last of the long ones. But it's also the start of Part Two! Enjoy...**

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** Part Two: The Branches **

Interlude: Family Portrait

Shireen Baratheon stared into the red sky. It felt like even the dome over them was stained with Ned Stark's blood.

No one could keep secrets on this island. No one could even whisper. Shireen had known the minute they were expecting Arya Stark to arrive on their isle, she was to be Shireen's new friend. She'd known that her father was keeping a secret by the way he tensed (even moreso than usual, if possible) than usual, upon reading a letter with the House Stark seal. And she'd known, when the raven flew over their small land, that something was wrong, she could tell from the solemn way it flapped its wings. She'd been alone, for a long time, and in that time she'd become observant.

The lady in red matched the sky today. Even in her father's chamber, where he met with his leaders and the great big awful table, the giant map of Westeros, she made the whole place look grim, and evil in her deep red dress. She hated her so much. Her mother stood on the other side of her father, drab in grey, like the rest of their setting. Perhaps that's what she hated most about the Red Woman, she made the place look alive, she stood out in her bright dresses, and the rest of them were just fading, rotting off to the side of the life happening around them.

Shireen touched her soft hand to her rough face. That's why she hated her indeed. She was evil and she was life.

Davos Seaworth stood before her father's desk, the bag of fingers draped around his neck swung back and forth with each step. He was trying to convince her father of something, and the two women as well, though they were adamantly against whatever Davos was saying.

She couldn't get close enough to hear them. She was in one tower, them in another. But she saw Davos leave the room in a hurry, and when she could finally spot him again, he was heading towards the docks, and her father's best ships.

The red woman appeared before her, blowing out the candles in her room.

"Time to go, my child." She said, once Shireen was almost completely in the dark. "You read so much." she said, "Tell me, what do you know of the land north of the Wall?"

They spent the next few days preparing. And as her father's men prepared, Shireen learned more.

They were taking off for the North, at the advice of Davos Seaworth. He'd read a letter, something managed under Shireen's proud tutelage, that talked of problems in the North. The Commander of the Night's Watch, his men already all too consumed with Wildling attacks, was asking for Stannis to prove his worth, as the now rightful king of Westeros, that sparked something in him.

Robert Baratheon's death had turned everyone's heads, but it was the death of Ned Stark that made everyone pay attention. Reports were surfacing to her father that there were self-proclaimed kings popping up all over the seven kingdoms, now that autonomy was up for grabs.

So far she knew Robb Stark calling himself King in the North, Balon Greyjoy claiming to be King of the Iron Islands, her own Uncle Renly was planning on taking the Iron Throne, her father and mother had decided he was a traitor, but Shireen could remember meeting him, years and years ago, and didn't think he was so bad. And now there was the King Beyond the Wall, and a threat even greater than him, and they were going to go fit it.

Gendry Baratheon, Shireen's cousin, was the bastard child of Uncle Robert the dead King. And, according to a letter sent between Eddard Stark and her father, her other cousins Joffrey, Myrcella, and Tommen were believed to be the sons of Cersei and another man. No could say with any certainty who the father was, though conspiracies, the details of which no one was willing to share with Shireen, had made their way to their home.

Havoc was taking over the Capital. Ned Stark was beheaded on the steps of the Red Keep for treason against the crown and Cersei Lannister swept in as advisor to King Joffrey, Rightful heir to the Iron Throne and First of his Name, his new wife and queen Margaery Tyrell by his side. Any other king was a pretender.

Her father claimed, and her mother claimed, and the lady in Red, and even her uncle Davos agreed vehemently, that Stannis was now the rightful heir to the throne.

"But why?" Shireen asked, picking a blade of grass apart with her fingernails.

The air on Dragonstone was as it always was: cold and unwelcoming with the stench of the sea invaded her nose. Her father said it was a agreeable for the trip they were about to undertake; a cold northern wind would only help them get there faster. But for Shireen it just left a chill in her bones.

She plucked another blade of grass from the ground and held it between her thumbs then pulled it to her lips. No sound came out. She threw it to the ground and gave up, next to her a a perfect high pitched whistle came from the lips of her friend.

"Why isn't Prince Gendry still the rightful heir to the Throne?" She asked.

"Because, he can't be the King now." Edric scoffed. "He's a bastard like me. His mum was just some woman the king fucked and left behind. I mean, could you imagine a bastard on the Iron Throne? Would they name me King of the Seven Kingdoms if Gendry wasn't older? I don't think so."

"But Cousin Gendry is older than you, and Joffrey, who is also a bastard. And the Baratheons have the right to the Throne so why should it be the one who was raised in the Keep, the one who was raised to be King?"

"Careful," Edric warned jokingly. "You sound plenty treasonous to me. Don't make me tell the Red Lady and Stannis what you're saying" He sighed. "Besides, Gendry's like me, he's only half-Baratheon, you're father is all Baratheon."

"Nobody is all Baratheon." Shireen argued. "I'm half-Florent. My father's mother was of House Estermont. So not even the 'rightful kings' are all Baratheon. If you want someone who is fully of one house, they'd have to be born of incest, and that would be horrid. How can being born base be worse than that?"

"You're overthinking things. You get too trapped in that big head of yours. A bastard like me may only be half Baratheon, like you, but its your other half that matters. House Florent is a noble house, in the Reach, with a sigil and a castle and everything. My mother… well I don't know who she is. And that's why you're my better." He said it so begrudgingly.

Shireen loved her cousin Edric, she didn't care who his mother was, and she didn't care that he didn't know who she was either. They'd grown up together, and though the concept had been refuted by her teachers and her parents many times, she didn't feel like his better, she felt like his equal. Edric wasn't allowed to sit by their side at the High Table for feasts when fancy guests came to visit, and Shireen couldn't take part when Edric learned the longsword with Davos and his sons, she could only watch. They both were excluded but they both had much to gain. And they both took their lessons together, though she paid more attention to books than Edric.

He'd been raised a Storm, in her Uncle Renly's land, though she'd only been told this. Edric himself had only the vaguest memories of that life. And then around his third birthday he'd been sent to Dragonstone, Shireen had been one at the time. Her parents never spoke of why he was sent to them, only once did it come up that it was the decree of King Robert that Renly no longer be in charge of the child.

He and Shireen had grown up together. Both awkward and quiet children. Edric restless and aggressive, a gift from his father, and Shireen curious and questioning. The quietness was a veil. They were equals because they fell disappointingly short of what people expected of them. Shireen: the true born daughter of Stannis Baratheon, was unfit, as a woman, to inherit his lands. And Edric, a baseborn bastard, though he had the necessary parts, lacked a title. And so occasionally they'd both experienced the time when someone would look at them and sigh and think So close to so much more. They endured it together.

And now they were being separated. Shireen was to follow her father North to the Wall and Edric was to stay on Dragonstone, and suffer the boredom alone.

"It's not fair." He'd shouted when they'd told him yesterday. Stannis, Mellisandre and Lady Selyse had left the room, and only Shireen and Davos remained.

"It's only for a while." Shireen reasoned. "It's only so there's someone here when the Stark girl arrives." Shireen was promised a new friend, one of Ned Stark's daughter, seeking refuge and safety after the truth about the Royal family was released. Shireen had been eagerly awaiting her arrival after finding the letter on her father's desk. She was excited by the prospect of a new friend. But the girl was already a day late.

Davos watched in silence as Edric pouted and moped about the room.

"Why don't you have to wait for her?" He reasoned. "She's supposed to be your friend."

Shireen looked at Davos who looked at his shoes. They both knew why she was going and Edric was staying, though Davos didn't know that Shireen knew. Selyse had an unnatural hatred for her own daughter and Stannis no longer trusted the two alone. The Woman in Red had warped her mother's mind with all her talk of the great and power Lord of Light. Shireen was not a believer, and her face was marked with signs of ugliness and hatred.

Left alone with her mother, who knows what would happen. Though, she didn't like the thought of Edric being alone with her either. And she doubted she would make a good welcoming committee for the Stark girl.

"You'll follow up with us shortly, I'm sure." Shireen said

"King Stannis feels it is best that the Pri- that Shireen remains with him For her safety. After all m'lady, this is your first time away from home."

Shireen was still getting used to her newfound title. She'd decided she hated it. She hated the sound of it, she'd hated the implications of it. She hated that it had give her new, fresh value. Everyone was upset when the question of inheritance was unanswered, but who would hesitate to marry the daughter of the King of Westeros? Davos knew she hated the name, but still it was hard for him to shirk his pleasantries. He called her simply Shireen but only when they were alone, when she was teaching him to read, or right now.

It struck her then that he was right, this was her first time away from home, first time off the island. All her life her parents had thought her either too fragile or too ghastly to be shown off in public, but the island was there own little hovel of safety and secrets.

The next day as they boarded the boats that would spend the next few months carrying them North, Shireen waved goodbye to mother. She spent the morning consoling and hugging Edric and promising him that soon he would be having adventures too, but now the view from the shore seemed bleak and she was sure her promise would be broken.

New details had reached her father that morning of the riot in King's Landing. Apparently the night of Joffrey's wedding Queen Cersei had orchestrated a raid of the city resulting in the brutal murder of all Robert Baratheon's bastards.

"My kind are almost extinct." Edric said grimly. They could now count on their hands the known remaining Baratheon bastards, though her father had commenting that they could trust Robert to have scattered the land with his seed. The Queen's guards were now doing a sweep of the land, moving outwards in search of more of them. It was then decided that Edric would wait three more days for the Stark to arrive, and then Selyse would ship him East for his own protection.

How sending a boy of fifteen East on his own with no protection or knowledge of the land was a good idea was beyond Shireen, though she suspected their plan was to send Edric off just as unceremoniously as he'd arrived. Eric wasn't afraid, well he was, but he was adamant on swearing he wasn't. And he be accompanied by two of Davos' best men, one of whom was his own son Devan.

More details included that any of the new claimed kings were considered traitors to the Throne and were to be killed on sight. Lannister troops were apparently preparing to deal with Stark forces in the North, as a separatist rebellion was being led by Ned Stark's oldest son Robb. One of the Stark girls remained in the city, though no more had been heard of her since. And the other had disappeared. As had Catelyn Stark, days before the coup in the Capital. Gendry Baratheon was still missing as well, he'd somehow managed to evade the city. Now Joffrey Baratheon sat happily on the Throne, temporarily unopposed while everyone outside of the Keep questioned his legitimacy and his right to rule.

Shireen no longer knew who should rule, or who was right. She moved to Ser Davos' side, the two of them watched Dragonstone shrink in the distance. When she sighed he asked her, "What's wrong, Princess?"

"We've left our home, with so many unanswered questions, so many things still up in the air, so many dangers we don't even know enough about. And now we're going to a cold, dark, desolate land, and those answers will only get more out of reach."

"Sometimes you have to make your own answers." Davos answered. "One thing I know certainly is that King Stannis is the one true king. And that in order to rule the realm, to right the realm, we first have to save it. Those are the only answers that matter for now."

Shireen was not satisfied by this answer. Davos reached out his glove covered hand and patted her hair, "You're a curious girl, I know this, you'll find plenty to occupy your busy mind once we reached the North." Davos sighed. "It'll be a world neither of us has ever seen."

Shireen knew her path, next to her father and Davos, with the Lady in Red and the Lord of Light leading the way. But she didn't believe in any of that. Sure her father could be king, and perhaps some man living the flames was going to get him there. He would be a good king, fair and just and swift. But Shireen was a young girl of twelve and under her feet she could feel the strong waves of the sea carrying her from the only home she'd ever known. And there was something out there. She could feel it. Something wild and unknown, and it was waiting for her, and luckily she was just curious enough to go find it.

Only one Stark slept on the night of Eddard Stark's death.

The news arrived to Wintefell, to Robb, Bran and Rickon, later in the day, long after their father's body had been removed from the steps of the Keep. They shed tears together as Robb vowed revenge in his mind. And Theon Greyjoy stood off to the side, mourning the death of the man he'd considered a father.

Sansa Stark shivered, still kept in the walls of the Keep. Unable to process the horror she'd witnessed, let alone how she would get to safety. She trusted no one. She didn't know what to do. She had no one. Her mother was gone, her sister had disappeared early, and her father... her father... she couldn't even cry. She had nothing left in her, everything was gone and she was hollow.

Deep in the North, Jon Snow heard the news. Late in the night, he was filled with a rage he knew could only be matched by that of his half-brother Robb. Robb with all the power, all the ability to act, and here was Jon Snow, stuck on the Wall, staring out at the world with nothing but a sword and promise not to leave. But he had not anticipated this moment.

He thought of his last seconds with his father, of the promise that he would learn more, about his past, about himself. And now that had fallen to the wind.

He left Castle Black, Samwell Tarly shouting name and following after him. Jon drew his sword and began to slash at the trees, feeling no relief as the wood broke apart before him. Ghost watched silently from the darkness of the woods. Hours later he fell to the ground, the tree bark of the tree in front of him hacked all to bits.

Caitlin Stark wound wearily down the road to the Vale. Though she had yet to hear the news, she had her suspicions and she feared they would be confirmed the moment she reached her sister's home. Still she needed to reach safety, as quickly as possible. Her sons needed her, and she needed news of her daughters, if they'd made it out safely, she longed to hold all her children. To comfort them and to be comforted. She shed a quick tear, and refused to cry again, refused to believe that her husband, her Ned, could be gone.

She pushed on down the road, though Jory looked bleary eyed and tired, though the other men jolted awake atop their horses, half-consumed by sleep. She was still needed in this world and still needed so much more. So Catelyn Stark pushed on.

Arya was the only one who slept, under the watchful eye of Yoren, a brother of the Night's Watch. As the cart rolled along one of the more concealed Northern roads, she was still passed out. It was not a restful sleep, thoughts of her father's death rolled through her head. And it was not a voluntary sleep, it was the only way she would be removed from the Capital. But for now, she might be as close to safety as she would get for gods knew how long: Unconscious, on a cart, surrounded by criminals with her small sword no longer by her side. Though she didn't even know it, for now she was safe, because at least she was heading North.

While Stannis Baratheon and his daughter spread out along the sea. While Edric Storm chewed his lips nervously and stared off towards the East. While Renly Baratheon sat in Storm's End fitting a crown of antlers to his head and Robert Baratheon lay, dead and discarded in the Great Sept. While all the Baratheons scrambled throughout the Seven Kingdoms, while the Stakrs mourned and found fury of their own, while the remaining Baratheon bastards counted the rest of their living days on trembling fingers, Gendry Baratheon was elsewhere.

Gendry was searching, for others, retracing his steps, trying to find without being found. He'd never heard heavier footsteps than his own. He couldn't see the Red Keep behind him, but he could feel it. He knew he should try to turn back and go search again. But through the trees he could see criminals with eyes downcast heading to the Wall, and among them was Arya. And he knew he could never turn back again.

He tried to reassure himself that he'd done the right thing, that he'd done alright, that he'd done enough, that he'd done all he'd been asked to do, but no matter how he tried to tell himself he couldn't make himself believe it. So instead he watched Arya sleep, that sight of her so small made him know that at least, through all his failings, he'd done something good.


	15. Along The Road

AN: Happy one year anniversary of this insane story! Here's a short chapter for you...

The Bastards: Volume One

Along the Road

The cuts and bruises on Gendry's face were finally starting to heal, though now a few had been reopened. A small streak of blood had coated his temple and some of his overgrown black hair. And there was a red scar permnantly etched about his eyebrow. His ribs hurt. He drank water from the stream while next to him, Arya knelt down to wipe the blood from her hands.

"Does this mean you're talking now?" He asked hopelessly. wiping blood from his lip. He'd asked her that everyday for the last month.

Arya said nothing.

"Thanks for that." He said, pointing to the dead body behind them. Arya plunged Needle into the river and let the current wash the blood away. "Though don't ever do it again."

"Why not?" Arya growled. "I can fight. Clearly I can fight. I'm just as capable as you are."

"Maybe so, but I don't want you to." Gendry replied with just as much anger. He stood up and walked from the water.

"Why not?"

"Because you're four and ten, Arry!" He cried out, trying to keep his voice down, that's what had gotten them in trouble in the first place. "You're just a girl. I don't want to change that."

"Just a girl?!" Arya yelled, she did not care if they were found again, she'd rather be mad.

"That's not what I meant." Gendry said quietly. And she knew that, but she was looking for another fight. "You're just a kid. I don't want that to change."

"This is what I've always wanted." She said, lifting up the tail of her shirt to wipe her sword dry.

"None of this is what you've always wanted." Gendry replied. "Your father is dead, Arya, He's gone. Your sister is probably stuck in the Capital, we don't know where your mother is, or if she even made it safely out of the city. You expect me to believe that you're happy because you finally got to swing your stupid little sword at a goldcloak? Because you're wearing breeches and pretending to be a boy? Don't insult me, Arry, I'm not that stupid."

He turned and walked away, heading back to the stream. He'd spent all their time along the road in silence. He was giving her space, letting her cope, atoning for his sins. But she wasn't coping, she was tuning him, and everybody else, out. She was becoming hard and coarse and he could see it.

So he shouldn't have been surprised when her foot landed on his back and he flew forward into the stream. He felt his hand cut open on a sharp, slippery stone. He flipped himself around, choking up water, when it cleared from his eyes he was staring down the edge of her sword.

"He wouldn't be dead if you had gone back for him. Or if you had let me go back for him. If you hadn't knocked me out and carried me away. And Sansa wouldn't be missing, or being tortured in King's Landing, she would be here with me if you had let me go or gone back for her right away." Gendry stared at her. She thrust her sword at him. "Why did you do it?"

"He knew what he was doing." Gendry said. "He knew the moment he sent that letter to Stannis. He knew since he and my father began looking for Cersei's motives, since he opened the book that proved Joffrey was not my brother. He knew what he was doing, and he was going to do it, because Lord Eddard Stark was a just man. And he knew that that would be his last act, he knew, on one level or another, that he wouldn't make it out of King's Landing after the news go out. And he had no escape plan. He knew, and he made it my job to get you out when the time was right. I'm sorry it came sooner than either he or I thought, but I was just doing what I was told."

She gritted her teeth and eventually sheathed her sword. She made no move to help him up, only to stand over him as he lay in the stream.

"Everything alright, children?" Lem called out.

"Fine." Arya said, turning on her heels and stomping passed the Brotherhood.

"We dug a grave." Tom said. "Normally, we'd let 'em float down the river, but we can't have them being found. Can't have you being found."

Gendry stood up and shook some of the water from his clothes. "Let's start burying him then" Gendry moved to pick up the gold cloak's feet.

"This is better than he ever got." Arya grumbled.

Lem said nothing, just picked up the dead man's arms and nodded sadly.

As they dragged the man's body through the trees to the makeshift grave, a trail of blood dripped from his throat where Arya had skewered him.

"Bit hard to cover that up." Anguy said, trailing behind them, watching for eyes in the forest.

Gendry nodded, the trail of blood might give them away, but Arya would give them away first. You couldn't contain a wolf, especially not one who was looking for a fight.

Their first day out on the road, Arya had only said three words to Gendry.

"Where's my sword?" She'd only asked at the end of the third day, after Gendry had asked her countless times if she was okay, after offering her food only to have her eat nothing, after bringing her water to share only have her drink it all. After finding her a blanket to sleep on as opposed to just the muddy earth. Every time he tried to sleep next to her she would get up and move, eventually he relented and opted for sleeping across the clearing from her, so he could watch her from afar throughout the night and keep her safe.

He turned towards her, never more glad for the fact that his body burned like a Forge, and asked.

"Arya, please. Please, say something."

And it was a question he couldn't answer. When he said nothing, she turned around and went to sleep.

She knew she had her sword with her in the Keep, which means that Gendry had lost it as he carried her out of the city.

Those were the only words she would say to him for quite some time.

He understood. After all, he'd made her lose everything.

They'd been fighting when two goldcloaks had found them. Arya had been yelling too loudly, her mind full of anger and her voice unused for the last month. And Gendry had never known the meaning of the word quiet.

She'd began shouting at him by the stream, she wasn't sure what finally made her burst, but it had something to do with how he'd caught her from almost falling into stream. As if a bit of water on the fabric of her breeches would make any difference. As if she couldn't keep her own balance. As if she was the only one he was able to help, like she didn't have family members lying dead back within the walls of their old home. And why couldn't he have helped them?

It was mostly because of that that she hit him. But also the idea that after a month of not speaking, of hating him, of cursing his existence, of praying foolishly to be back in King's, of wishing she could've known what could've been, she was mad that he felt he had any right to touch her. After all he'd done to her, in her name, for her, he couldn't give her and inch of space. That's why she'd punched him, hard, in the ribs, multiple times.

Then the yelling had started. Cursing, mostly. Then the goldcloaks had shown up. Then she saw Needle, her Needle, hanging from one of their belts. Then one attacked Gendry, recognizing him immediately, while the other fell to the ground with an arrow to the thigh, courtesy of Anguy, who'd been nearby.

The goldcloak had ran off to the woods and Anguy had to chase him down. The remaining one attacked Gendry, forcing him under the water, bypassing Arya entirely, though she had to admit, she was better hidden than Gendry was. He'd hacked off her hair, dirtied her clothes, gotten rid of any trace of the Capital. And though he been hidden inside the Red Keep's walls most of his life, the goldcloaks knew him all too well.

Arya walked to the guard, who was completely distracted with trying to drown the Prince that he didn't hear her unsheathing her tiny Needle from his own belt.

She stood over him, and thought of the Queen, the woman who had ordered her father's death, and watched it happen. And then as easily as practicing her water dancing, she slid the sword through the back of his neck. The blood gurgled and she could hear the sound of him struggling for last breaths, she could hear the blood spitting from his mouth and covering Gendry's shirt and face.

The Prince, no longer held down, resurfaced from the water and pushed the guard from him. When he turned and landed with a thud on the wet stone Arya was surprised to see his face, and not Cersei's.

She stared down at the scene in complete confusion, while Gendry sputtered for breath. He looked pale and shaken as he coughed for air.

Arya's eyes trailed from the dead body up the grass to the sword in her hand, "Huh," She said. "I got my sword back."

Gendry continued to stare at her like she was a monster. Then turned around and threw up in the stream. Arya just flipped her sword back and forth in her hand. "Your hands are covered in blood." She said, all calm and blasé.

And so he began wash them.


	16. The Deserter's Song

AN: It's getting to be that fun time of year again for students! So take a moment from your papers and your exams and read a chapter for a few minutes. I took a nice little celebratory break to write it and am about to start writing down the next one now! I'm very excited to bring in a new character to spice things up a bit and hopefully you'll all get to see them soon. Until the, enjoy...

The Deserter's Song

They had buried the guards' bodies, moved as much as their feet could, and set up a night's camp.

Now he sat by the fire, sipping whatever mulled wine was leftover with Anguy who, like Gendry was too tired to actually sleep.

"You could not have had an easy month." Anguy said, coughing up the half-rank wine from his lungs. It sure wasn't altar wine from the High Sept, but it would do the trick to get him drunk enough to sleep.

"All she said was 'where's my sword?'" He said glumly, chugging back the little swig Anguy had left for him.

"What over and over again? She did seem like she could be a chatty little thing when I met her at the Tourney." He laughed.

"Once." Gendry replied.

"What do you mean, once?"

"She asked it once, three days in or something. Didn't speak to me again. And she's talkative too, some days we were training in the Keep..." His voice trailed off after that.

"What happened to you?"

Gendry told him...

The second Yoren saw Arya he'd gone straight for her hair, "She'll be Arry now, until I saw otherwise." He shoved the shredded tendrils of hair into the fire.

Gendry stared at them singeing in the coals, he would miss her hair. "Do I get a a new name too?"

Yoren looked up at him. "You get a bastard's name." He moved Arya's unconscious body to the side and stoked the fire. "Your Grace, when we're done here, no one will recognize you. And you'll look so terrible they won't want to ask your name, let alone look at you."

With his face covered in blood, and that blood having been dried with coals and dirt from the fire's hearth, Gendry changed into the clothes Yoren had gotten him from under the cot of whatever shop they were in. A simply tunic and breeches, not unlike the ones he'd worn during his off days, working in the Forge, practicing with Arya.

He'd always found it ridiculous: working, practicing, dancing around with the sword in his hand, sweating in clothes someone had sweated over. Silk from Meereen, handcrafted princely clothes. These clothes he wore now, these were Arya's clothes. Clothes of carelessness, clothes of someone who dressed in the dark, and lived without a second thought. And now she was lying unconscious, slumped in a corner, with a dead father lying three roads away.

"Time to go." Yoren said.

Gendry sighed, the sleeves on his new shirt were so short they rode up to his elbows. He hauled Arya back up into his arms and carried her through the dark corridors of King's Landing's alleys.

The newest batch of recruits for the Men of the night's Watch were comprised of the usual types: men who were down on their luck, men with no future in the Capitol, poor boys who's masters had let them go, and of course, criminals. Despicable criminals who he wouldn't trust around Arya in a million years in any other circumstance. But he was desperate, and that can make me do unspeakable things.

He could only imagine the same must be true for the men being carted around in cages. He had always felt that the policy of sending criminals to the Wall was non-sensical. Most went out of necessity, and few out of honour. He'd read in the history books that the Night's Watch used to be a position of integrity, no he could only imagine that the criminals they sent up there were mostly just trying to stay alive in the freezing cold.

There was a man, with white and red hair, eyeing the two of them. Eyeing Arya. And he was getting under Gendry's skin. He was watching her ever move, the way she walked, the way she stayed three feet ahead of Gendry at all times. Gendry could practically feel his blood boiling. He began to move towards him when he heard his name called.

"Waters!" Yoren was yelling, though it took Gendry more than a minute to respond. "Waters!" Yoren tried again, pointing at Gendry, as he was not the only one to go by that name in this group.

So far, no one on the road had recognized him. But he felt as if he was pushing his luck. He could see Arya's fists itching to punch him again, all in the name of continuing to hide his princely identity.

Yoren pulled Gendry close and yanked his eyeline away from Arya. "Leave the man in the cage alone. I'll tell her the same, she doesn't seem to be listening to you much lately."

"No, she's not." Gendry replied tiredly.

"Soon we'll be stopping for the night." He looked around for a place to set up camp. "You keep an eye on her. She's bound to take off any minute. It's been almost a week, I'm amazed she's only tried to take off twice. She's gearing up for another go. Tie her down, knock her out again, I can't explain a third escape attempt. There are other kids here not running off and if they did I wouldn't tolerate it. So why would I put up with one annoying bastard kid who won't sit still? She already looks suspicious enough running off to the woods to piss and blushing like fucking maiden when the others do it in front of her."

"Arya doesn't blush." Gendry chuckled, though there was no mirth in his voice.

"She does, perhaps not like a maiden, but she does."

They slept anywhere they could: under bridges, in trees, against the walls of inns to guard against the wind, in stables for the warmth the horses could provide. These men were prisoners, but they weren't in prison yet.

All of this was done under Yoren's watchful eye. He kept Arya in line, she barely listened to him, but she was deaf when it came to Gendry. She always walked near the men in cages, or took off to the forest whenever they sat down for a meal or a rest. She didn't speak to anyone still. She nodded semi-obediantly at Yoren, she told others to "Piss-off", her language growing more and more obscene with each encounter. No one would ever believe she was a daughter of Winterfell.

Two weeks into their travel, they passed along the side of the King's Road, miserable bandits, miserable thieves, miserable men. After sixteen days, she spoke.

They'd pulled off the road for the night, resting in stable house of a man who didn't even know they were there. He heard them whispering.

He was facing one of the walls, eyes wide open, just thinking. Everything was silence. Some men mumbled in their sleep, and enormous baker's apprentice who'd been caught stealing, called himself Hot Pie, was snoring fiercely loud that at one point he heard someone threaten to throttle him in his sleep. Everyone nodded off, quieted down until there was just him, laying there, staring at a wall.

"Can they bring a man back?" She asked.

He thought maybe she was talking to him, but her voice was far away. She positioned herself on the other side of the room from him.

"I don't care and I don't much care to know." He heard Yoren reply.

He fought the urge to turn around, just to see her speak. He was feeling drowsy now and her voice seemed as if it was from a dream of the past.

"I care."

"Dont."

"Not many men... just one."

"Get it out of yer mind, Arry."

"I'll ask them myself."

"You don't go near them." He said sternly.

"I'll go wherever I want."

"Not while I'm watching you. Like your Lord father wanted me to."

"Shut up."

They were silent.

"No man can bring back the dead, Arry. Nor would you want them to. Gruesome business, to the absolute least."

"How would you know?" She grumbled. "Unless it can be done?"

"He's gone, Arya." Yoren said, voice now above a whisper, and still harsh. "He's dead."

He waited for a response that didn't come. It felt to Gendry like hours passed before he heard anything else.

"Yoren, did you hear that?" She asked.

Gendry's ears perked up, trying to find what she had found.

He heard nothing, then the squeaking of the door, then heavy footfall before a book hit his lower back.

"She's gone. Go after her." Yoren grumbled, half-asleep. "Make sure she doesn't get too lost."

He followed her out the woods, always staying a few yards away. As if she could get lost out here.

He found her at a clearing and she knelt down, from the shadows a wolf stepped out. Not a direwolf, a regular sized wolf, but still he could tell the connection was there, it was her sigil after all. His mind flashed back to the day in the Red Keep's dungeons, naming house sigils. She'd run away then too.

She looked calm and at peace for the first time since their days of swordplay in the Smith. Possibly the most at peace he'd ever seen her.

Her hand reached out and traced the wolf's snout, over his head, behind his ears. The beast seemed to relax into her touch. And then it was gone. he continued on into the forest but Gendry did not follow. He knew she would be okay.

She returned hours later. The men were still asleep, and Gendry finally found himself nodding off too. In the back of his mind he heard the door creep open, and knew she was silently treading around the bodies on the hay-filled floor.

This time, she didn't cross to the other side of the room, she stayed near him. And every minute or so, she would inch a little bit closer, until eventually Gendry felt her lie flat against him, her chest against his back. her body was freezing, cold as ice from the wind and wet, like she'd been in the river.

He rolled over, feigning sleep, and slung his warm, large arm over her and pulled her closer. She tensed and her prepared himself to be woken up by a slap, but then she relax into him, and soon lulled off to sleep, and he did the same.

Gendry woke up to a foot in his face. Arya was sleeping on the other side of the room.

"That's about were continuing on down the road. Four days later we found you and Beric."

He hadn't told Anguy about Arya coming to him at night. He wasn't even sure it had happened anymore, he'd practically been asleep, and Arya hadn't even so much as looked at him since. He'd probably dreamt it, along with every moment of theirs that he thought had happened. Perhaps he'd always been on this road, and he was Gendry Waters instead of Gendry Baratheon.

Anguy was looking at him like he was crazy as he came out of his daze. Gendry down the rest of his drink. He felt crazy.


	17. We Were Never Built To Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey all

We Were Never Built To Last

Mostly it was just walking, boring old walking. And Arya was quickly growing tired of it. She still wouldn't speak to Gendry, and that kept her silent to the Brotherhood as well. Whenever they walked, she stayed either forwards or behind the group. When they sat to eat, she wandered the forest. When they practicing with their sword and arrows, she climbed the trees and observed them, learning their style and saving what she noticed away in her mind.

She knew they were watching her, and that they never let her go to far. After the first day, she learned how far she could go before the all grew on edge. After four days she knew each man's way of following her into the forest: Anguy would step in her footprints. Tom would play his woodharp, and listen for her steps, Beric would call out to her, hoping to entice her in, and Gendry would stomp around in his usual, ungraceful way. She learned immediately that almost none of them were hunters, not that it surprised her, these men were warriors, soldiers, fighters, without any allegiance. They were rogues, and rebels. And she would, and could, take them down if she had to.

Gendry had allowed Beric to take Needle, but after successfully stealing it back several times they all decided it was best that she just keep hold of it.

"Are we talking yet?" Gendry asked her one day.

Arya thought about it, she wasn't even sure she could form words anymore she'd been silent for so long. She shrugged by way of response and pulled ahead of him.

"Are you mad still? Are you mute?" He asked putting his hands on her shoulder and shaking her. "Look I can't stand this anymore, the silence, it's maddening, please just talk to me."

She stopped. "What do you want me to say?" She asked. "What do you have to say to me?"

The silence loomed between them for minutes before she decided to carry on.

Gendry shook his head, they had grown too silent and now too far apart.

Anguy was teaching her to shoot arrows one day, and though she kept to her quiet self, she even managed to crack a smile at some of his stupid jokes.

"Keep your elbow up." He advised, "Don't aim, just shoot." Arya rolled her eyes at the advice as he stood close and spoke his words into her ear. Gendry was watching, and she could tell he was probably bubbling over with anger, so she held the arrow just a little longer, before letting it fly into the trunk of a nearby tree.

"Good." Anguy said, appraising her work. "Now faster, imagine your opponent is comin' at ya, and they aren't swinging some tiny little sword either."

Arya rolled her eyes and as Anguy turned away she shot the arrow just over his head, letting it hit the tree in front of him. "Better?" She asked. He just laughed in response.

She continued practicing, with him watching nearby, and found herself reciting a few names as she went, "Joffrey, Cersei, Illyn Payne, the Hound..." She went on and on, shooting arrows and hunting them back down, until her arms hurt and night fell, and then she continued to say those names in her sleep.

"Where are we?" Gendry asked, as they travelled along one day.

"We are..." Lem began. "Definitely somewhere." Anguy finished for him.

"We're lost." Arya said, her voice startling Gendry. She was walking right behind him, and had been for who knows how long, and he hadn't even noticed. She was getting too good at that. "We're near Harrenhall." She proclaimed.

"How could you possibly know that?" Gendry heard Tom ask her.

"Because I was on the King's Road not even a full year ago, and it took us at least thing long travelling to get from Harrenhall to the the Capitol." She looked at Gendry, "Just common sense really." It was a mumble, and not really even one directed at him, still he nodded along in agreement. He himself had never been much further than this on the Kings Road, and though he'd travelled it several times he wasn't sure he could figure out his location at any give point on it. It was all just green and trees and green and trees.

"We'll set up camp for the night," Beric decided. "Get our bearings."

They set up camp, and started a fire. And eventually they all fell asleep.

Arya was awake, and sitting on a branch in a tree, they might expect to find their 'bearings' in their dreams but Arya knew better. She looked over the tops of the trees, and could see the sun starting to rise.

Down below she heard voices.

"Get these fuckers up these are the ones we've been looking for."

"You sure?"

"Of course I'm fucking sure, tie em up and we'll haul 'em in."

She waited until the man was just below, climbing down the tree without a sound, then she pounced, drawing her tiny sword as she landed on the man's back. She stuck it into the meaty muscle of his shoulder, seeing spurt of blood come out.

The man screamed as he crashed to the ground, and it woke up everyone in the camp. The fire was out and the the smoke combined with the dark of night to make sight impossible. The man was not dead, and his screams brought the brotherhood back to life. One by one she heard swords unsheathe as they jumped to attention, shouting of the invaders.

The fight broke out, and somewhere i noted distance, Arya heard a wolf howl. it spurred her onwards. She ventured into the camp and found Gendry lying on the ground, arms tied behind his back, and same with Thoros and Anguy, his bow lying next to him, snapped in half.

Next thing she knew, through the din of the smoke, she saw a sword swing, the force of it's swing making needle fly out of her hand before she could defend herself, then the handle of the sword crashed down on her head and the world went black.

A hood was pulled off her head, and she sat with the brotherhood in a pen, a few henchmen a stood in view on the other side of a fence. She looked to her left and found Gendry sitting in the same position, knees tucked up to his chest, arms tied tightly behind his back. Beric Dondarrion was being hauled to his feet by a tall man and taken to a pen with a fire nearby. The man holding him grimaced at the blood running from his arms, the product of various stabs from well sharpened swords. He looked at Arya, her face stony and unemotional, and he chuckled, "Welcome to Harrenhall," He said, blowing her a kiss through his cracked lips, displaying the rotting teeth within.

She looked at Gendry, who face conveyed even less than hers. "It'll be fine." he whispered, "We'll be fine." She rolled her eyes and scoffed in disgust, stupid prince.

End Part Two: Volume 1


	18. All The Distant Ships

The Bastards: Volume Two

All the Distant Ships

Somewhere along the King's Road, past Moat Cailin and the Whiteknife river fork, two men sat in a pub, piss drunk and shouting belligerently at each other, though neither were particularly interested in what the other had to say. But drunk men have opinions. And drunk men shout.

"Why would Tywin Lannister attack the Keep?"

"Nah, I said the Reach, 'ell attack the Reach!"

"Why would Tywin Lannister, Lord o' Casterly Rock, attack the Reach when 'e's working so hard to marry that bastardly little grandson of his off to the Tyrell girl's cousin?"

"He's not gonna physically attack it, he's gonna attack it with family. He's gonna try an git at their gold."

"Why would the Golden Lion of Lannister want Tyrell gold?/" The second man yelled before lifting his ale and nodding at his companion "'E shits it don't ya know." He said in full earnest.

"E's got nothing. The crown's in debt up to its crowny bits. And the Tyrells are gonna try an take over the Capital now that they got that Queen Margaery and 'er grandmother in there."

"The Lannisters? Broke?"

"Of course ther broke!" The man guffawed nearly falling off his chair. "Why else would he not 'ave traded 'is gold for 'is one son and heir?"

"Now yer talkin nonsense."

"Robb Stark's up in the North. 'E's captured Jaime Lannister, and 'e wants ta trade 'im for the Stark sisters being 'eld in the Capital. But the Lannisters don't want no trade."

"Why in the Seven Hells not?"

"Because Jaime Lannister can escape on 'is own. Mark my words 'e will."

"Yer a blitherin idiot."

It was at this point that a third man interjected.

"The Starks are all damned liars." His voice boomed, silencing the other two men. "They have no Lannisters. Robb Stark does not ride a wolf into battle and Sansa Stark is not stuck in King's Landing. Same as the young Stark boys, they weren't burned to crisp in their home at night."

"Oi, what's on yer face, there man?"

"And that little Stark wolf bitch, she sure as the seven hells isn't in King's Landing. The only honest one among them is that Ned Stark and that's only cuz his damned head is stuck on a spike in the Keep."

"And 'ow the hells would you know all this?"

The man grabbed his drink and swallowed it in one gulp. "Call me a soothsayer for all the fucks I give." He said, wiping his mouth. He stood and wobbled across the tavern to the stairs of the inn, then promptly passed out on them.

"They'll never move that fucker." One of the drunks said with a laugh.

"A large man indeed." The second said. "But he's right, those bloody Starks are liars."

A raven stared down at a fat man in black. Next to him was a direwolf, white as the undisturbed snow around him.

The man patted the wolf's head as above the raven circled.

"He'll be back soon, Ghost. Not to worry, nothing could take him down." He said.

Bored, the raven flew on while the man stared south.

Brienne stared into fire, the coals burned red hot within.

"You trying to find R'hllor?"

She looked up across the fire to find Jaime Lannister at the other end. Brian rolled her eyes and stood up, continuing to prepare the camp. Her hostage was already growing on her nerves.

"You'll have better luck with that than you will finding either of those Stark girls." Jaime said.

"It's not about luck." Brienne growled, staring into the coals. "It's about.. my duty." She decided finally.

"Well, in that case, Catelyn Stark must hate you quite a bit to give you the two worst tasks in the whole of the Seven Kingdoms." Jaime laughed, and sat back, his suave demeanour remained though his wrists were chained together in front of him. "You should've sworn yourself to me instead, at least I could make you rich for your troubles."

"Yes, but I'd rather work for someone with integrity, Kingslayer."

"You're words, they wound me Lady Brienne." He said. "Look down on me, if that is what would please you, but tonight we sleep on the same ground, eat the same food, drink the same wine, and guards are looking for you just as much as they are searching for me. After all, it was a treasonous act in the eyes of the Great King Stannis, to join allegiances with Renly." He rolled his eyes.

As he spoke, Brienne stood, doing busy work to distract herself from his words. Words she knew were wrong and that she didn't need to bother listening to anyways.

"You won't eat if I don't bother to give you any food." She said, the game she'd caught sizzled next to her on the fire, and though she knew the threat to be a lie she liked the way it felt on her tongue. But it was easier to walk next to a Lannister than it was to carry on, so she divided the meal evenly an offered him his half.

"Eat." She commanded.

He held the food clumsily up to his mouth, "If only it wasn't so hard with these shackles on, perhaps they could come off for just a few minutes?"

"No chance in the seven hells." She said, she stopped as she heard a noise out in the forest. A careless snap of a twig, then a brush along a branch. Her hand immediately moved to the hilt of her sword.

"Now will you talk these things off?" Jaime whispered through gritted teeth.

Brienne shushed him. Her sword moving from it's sheath inch by inch at the pull of her wary hand.

She noticed the fatal flaw, Jaime Lannister's sword, lying at the other end of their makeshift camp. her eyes met Jaime's blue ones and together they knew the fate of their lives relied on getting that sword in the Kingslayer's capable hands.

Brienne pulled him up by the thick rope holding his wrists together and in a single move sliced it open as he went charging past the blade of her sword to his own. He dove, a figure emerging from the bushes at the same time, Brienne only heard the beginning of the fight as she turned to face whoever else was attacking. She couldn't even recognize her enemy before she felt the edge of his blade slice along her armour-less stomach. She collapsed to the ground, a pair of boots kicking her and sending her rolling in the dirt. She was facing them, Jaime kneeling on the ground, sword in hand, as they swarmed around him.

"Look at that, we caught ourselves a Lannister." The leader said, met by a round of boisterous laughter.

A river of red wound down the soil past her eyes and mixed with the flame of the fire. And then it all went black.


	19. The Mute

The Mute

Arya cringed in the kitchen doorways in Harrenhal. She's heard too many stories about this place growing up and knew it to be as backwards and cursed as all the seven hells combined. She knew the ownership was constantly changing hands, nobody wanted a placed covered in gossip, disgrace, and disillusion. She knew this was where Rhaegar Targaryen had name her dead aunt Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty. She'd tiptoed around the grounds a few days ago and when she found the dilapidated tourney hall she'd wondered where her father had sat. She decided he might've liked a seat near the back, but Lyanna, if she was as alike to Arya as her father said, would've dragged closer to the front. She imagined him, a young man, before he'd even met her mother, Lady Catelyn, before she or any of her siblings were more than a whisper or a thought in his mind. The memory made her sad, and she didn't turn her head back to that direction again, though she found herself standing on the same ground every day, and sometimes in the evening too.

She knew then why people had such a distaste for Harrnehal. Memories made the air bitter and the land putrid. Still, they hadn't killed her. They hadn't killed anyone, in fact. The Brotherhood was still tied up in the styes where they might've kept livestock, they were still being tortured, and fed only enough to keep them alive so they might answer questions about their plans. With a grunt Arya pushed those thoughts away, what could she do for those men now? They'd set her to work in the kitchens. They'd been searching for the brotherhood for months and after finally finding them they had no use for anyone else, especially when the brotherhood had labelled her as some serving boy they found in a nearby tavern who'd followed them to try and steal from their merger pockets. It was a hard lie to swallow, since she was growing more and more into a woman everyday and since she'd had Needle tucked into her hand, which was now once again lost, but they'd managed to sell it. And it seemed the only words Gendry had needed were "I'm a Smithy" and he'd practically been given the run of the Forge. Luckily for him, no one outside of King's Landing had seen his face. She supposed the Prince would be wanting to thank Queen Cersei for that. She hadn't seen him in days.

Harrenhal changed hands so frequently she could not longer be certain of who was running it, only that it wasn't someone who was on her side, not that that narrowed down the list by much. She stared out the kitchen door into the pens where a man named Poliver was circling the Brotherhood, who laid tired and beaten on the muddy ground. Perhaps it was...

"Boy," A voice called, and Arya whipped around. "Take this meal to the Forge, when you're done come back, you're supposed to serve the Tower Hall next and you look like shite so you'll need to tidy yourself up first." She held her arms out and silently accepted the tray. The cook who handed it to her and sniffed over her head. "Carry it quickly, eh? You smell like piss and wet dog and I don't want it ruining my food." She nodded silently and rolled her eyes once she'd turned away.

As she approached the open door of the Forge she felt the heat increasing as she got closer, it made her sweat all over.

He stood working at the Forge, and between the roaring heat of the fire and made her dizzy. The memory of the Forge at the Red Keep danced in front of her eyes. "Arry?" She stopped still and focused on him standing in front of her, as torn and sweaty beige tunic covered his body and brown breeches reached down his legs, similar to her own, the uniform of the poor souls of Harrenhal. She held the food out to him but didn't say a word. "How long have you been standing there?" She shrugged.

Gendry ate and she waited. He knew she still wasn't talking to him, and he had been one to compensate silence with nervous, one-sided conversation. As he shovelled his meal into his mouth, tired from working since the crack of dawn. But they fed him well here, since he was the only smith they had. He worked his way through several topics, all of which received no response from Arya.

He tried talking about her work in the kitchens, his work in the Forge, some of the information he'd gathered over the last few days, not that there was much to share on that account. Finally he paused, and truly looked at her, no longer feeling like he had anything to lose by doing so. She looked ragged and tired, like she hadn't eaten or slept in all the days they'd been there. He ripped a chunk off of the half loaf of bread she gave him and threw it to her, it landed in her lap. "Eat." He said, hoping she'd respond to a command more than a offer of kindness. To his surprise she nibbled at it halfheartedly.

On the road she'd been angry, determined, and strong-willed as ever, now it seemed as though the walls of Harrenhal had broken her spirit. He worried about her, in more ways than he'd thought possible. He'd heard people talking about some kitchen mute and knew it could only be her. They wondered if the mute had a tongue. They wondered if the mute was a he or she. They wondered if they could get her alone to find out. And as they wondered he worried even more. She couldn't keep this facade up for long, and gods only knew when they'd be getting out of here. Besides which he knew she'd snap soon enough, snap out of her silence, her guilt, her grief, and then she'd attack. And then they'd kill her for it. But she still wouldn't let him help her. She was too damn stubborn.

He gestured to the small living quarter behind the Forge that were his own. "There's a tub full of water back there, you should go clean yourself up." She eyed him skeptically. "It's probably freezing cold by now, but it's private, and that's gotta be hard to find around here." He said. Her eyes went blank and he sighed. She'd ignored, not only had she gone mute but she'd willed herself to be deaf too. Then, slowly, she rose and went to the back of the Forge. Gendry smiled and quickly finished his meal.

He heard the water splashing the back as he got back to work. When she returned a few minutes later she looked skinner than he'd ever seen her, and she was pale as a ghost. "Come here and warm up." he spoke and she listened. Her newfound obedience concerned him. But she stood next to him at the fire as he dropped a newly forged sword into a bucket of cold and dirty water. He stood over her and noticed she'd recut her hair, it was patchy and uneven and it was no longer sufficient in making her look like a boy. As it dried quickly in front of the fire he noticed the way it curled slightly around her cheeks. His fist tightened around the hilt of his hammer. He heard to guards moving through the yard outside and tensed.

"Harrenhal was under Lannister control, then they passed it on to Littlefinger. From what I've gleaned, he 'lost' it for a tidy sum to a takeover by House Bolton. The Boltons are aligned with the Starks but I don't think I have to tell you that that's not a connection we should be trusting." Arya nodded next to him. "Becareful Arry." He said, placed a hand gently on hers, he only touched her for a moment before she slipped away and walked out of the Forge, carrying his empty bowls in her hand.

"Smithy," Gendry looked up from the fire, "You're to go up to the Main tower's hall, present what you've been working on." He nodded, adopting Arya's silence as his own for a moment. And stepped into line.

Once upstairs Gendry could hear laughter roaring from outside the room, however he entered in silence. He expected the worst: to find Lord Bolton standing before him, a man who visited King's Landing on three year prior and might recognize Gendry if he was as shrewd a man as people boasted. Instead he found a younger man, not overly tall but strongly built. He sighed a moment of relief as the realization that he now stood in front of Ramsay Snow, the Bastard of Bolton. And then a whole new set of panic took over.

"You've fashioned a new sword for me?" He asked, Gendry nodded and presented it to him from a bended knee.

"Yes m'lord." He replied, adopting the commoner's dialect.

"And tell me, will it be sufficient in lopping of the head of the King's last remaining bastard? They say he's roaming the countryside somewhere and I intend to find him." Ramsay said, surveying the sword.

"Well, m'lord," Gendry pondered, "If he's the stubborn bull that people say he's perhaps I should go sharper it more for you." Ramsay laughed and his men joined in, the door opened behind him and Arya walked in carrying a tray of drinks. She handed them out among the men and began cleaning up.

"Very well," Ramsay said, watching Arya as she cleaned. His eyes snapped to Gendry and he threw the sword by it's hilt sending it blade first towards Gendry. He reached forward and caught the blade in his hand. He barely winced but Ramsay didn't seem to register any of it. He only watched as one of his men approached Arya.

"You must be the new one in the kitchens, the Mute one." He chuckled slyly and looked around to the other men, "We've all got a little wager placed about whether or not you've got a cunt. I says you do, others say you really do. First man to find out gets to fuck you first." He reached down between Arya's legs, making Gendry unconsciously grip the blade of the sword harder into his palm. He began counting the men in the room and which of them were armed, to see how many he could kill before they'd stop him, he just needed enough for Arya to escape.

But the man's face paled, and his eyes widened. Slowly he stumbled away from Arya as she began to fight a smirk from forming on her lips.

Ramsay looked bored by his men's antics. "There, not a girl, just a very pretty boy. Would you still like to fuck him or can we continue on with our discussion?" The man remained silent and Ramsay looked to Gendry and Arya in turn, "You're dismissed." He said with a wave of his hand. Gendry and Arya disappeared through the same door and Arya ran down the steps as fast as her feet would carry her.

Later that night, Gendry sat in the Forge working later than was required. It must've been closer to morning than evening now. He was sharpening the blade for Ramsay Snow, the blade that was promise to one day slit his own throat, when he saw a pair of feet standing nearby. He knew it was her, though he wasn't sure why she was awake or why she was here.

"What happened today?" He asked. "I thought we were both done for."

She offered him the smallest of smiles, he didn't even dare to call it that, and reached into her breaches pulling out a small, mangled sausage and laughing before throwing it into the fire. "Got creative." She replied. "You told me to be careful. And I figured no one wants to touch a Eunic."

He laughed with her, though her's sounded hollow, it was more emotion than he'd seen from her since they'd arrived here. And it was the closest thing to a smile he'd seen from her in months.

"Do you want me to fix your hand?" She asked, pointing to the brown and red dried blood and dirt coated Gendry's right palm. Stupid bull, she thought as she approached him.

"No it's okay, really. You should get back to your quarters Arya, what are you even doing here anyway?"

She shrugged, producing a bottle of wine from behind her back. "I knew you'd be too stupid to bother cleaning this up yourself. Someone has too before your hand rots off, then what good would you be here?" She pulled the cork out with her teeth and grabbed his hand, which he offered willingly, too distracted by the sound of her unused voice to bother arguing. She didn't smile again, not even guiltily as she poured the wine over the cute that ran across his palm and fingertips and he winced in pain. She dunked his hand under water, the cleanest she could find in the dingy forge, and wiped the remained off the blood away with a rag. She sewed the wound shut as best she could, with a needle and thread she snagged from one of the sleeping girl's she shared a room with.

Gendry grabbed the bottle of wine and took a swig as she worked, sloppily spilling wine down his shirt in the process. "Don't waste it, the cooks check the levels every morning. Besides if memory serves when you drink too much you get a big mouth." She said, meaning it as a joke, but as the words left her mouth, Gendry remembered the events that had taken place after his last drunken escapade. And he saw the look on Arya's face as she remembered too.

She sewed his hand and fingers and Gendry winced and drank small sips of wine. And they did so in silence. Arya no longer wanting to talk and Gendry unsure of what to say.

She finished sewing and cut the line of thread with her teeth. As she began to bandage it shut she spoke, "Why didn't he have a plan?" She asked, and he knew at once they were talking about her father. Their screaming match in the woods came rushing back to him.

"He wasn't prepared, none of us were." Gendry answered. Arya's fingers ghosted for a moment over the scar on his forearm, the one Sansa had mended back in the Red Keep, ages ago.

She shook her head and continued her work. "No, he was the smartest man I've ever met. He knew what was going to happen."

"Arry, none of us could've seen this coming. He was a brilliant man, but the Lannisters, they're cunning, and manipulative, and deceitful and they have shame, and secrets. My father was a lot of things but ashamed was not one of them, he wore his heart on his sleeve, loudly and often very drunkenly. But the Lannisters they betray, even each other, and they'll do anything to stay on top and keep their secrets hidden. We all just realized it too late."

She shook her head, tying the bandage together around his hand before moving away from him slightly. "You're wrong, I've been going over it, he knew what was about to happen, that's why he got my mother out of the Capital, he was getting Sansa and me out too, you know this. But what if he also brought Syrio to me so that I would know how to fight so that maybe I could go back in and save him. What if he had a plan and he was counting on me and I let him down?" Tears began to roll silently down her cheeks as she spoke.

"Arya, this is madness talking, it's grief. You're father didn't want you to come back and save him, he wanted me to get you as far away from King's Landing and any other danger as I could. Not that I've managed to do that yet but… all he cared about once he realized what he'd discovered was getting his family to safety, he wasn't the kind of man to abandon his duty or think about his own wellbeing. He died and then called him a traitor, but he was honourable until the end."

She continued to sob, it was silent and she his her face from him the whole time. All he could do was wrap an arm around her and hold her as her tiny body shivered and shook with rage and sadness.

"You need sleep. Go to the bed, I'm going to keep working a while,"

"On the sword that's going to kill you?" She asked.

"Yes, on that one. I'll wake you so you have time to go back to your quarters." She nodded and stood, floating in a daze to where he pointed.

The dawn crept over Gendry as he worked tirelessly in the Forge. He wondered if perhaps this was the life he was best suited for after all, him and the Forge, no one knowing or even caring about his name, sweat on his brow and back, Arya in his bed.

He left his work and walked over to her, sleeping soundlessly, and almost peacefully. He yawned wishfully as he watched her. It was a well deserved sleep and he didn't want to wake her. He only reached forwards a brushed his hand against her cheek, moving a piece of brown hair back behind her ear. She grabbed his arm, gently as she slept and Gendry's memory returned to the night on the King's Road, travelling with Yoren and his men, when Gendry thought he had dreamed her body inching closer to his. They'd only just started out on the road then, she'd still seemed so young. But not anymore.

Gendry tried to pull himself out of her grip, but couldn't manage to, though perhaps he wasn't pulling that hard. Soon enough, he relinquished control, and lay down next to her on the straw bed, his body forming around hers happily and pulling her even closer to him.

When he woke, Arya was standing over him. The sun had not yet rose of Harrenhal.

"I want to go see the Brotherhood." She stated matter of factly.

Gendry rose from the bed slowly. The night's events still foggy in his head. "What?"

"I want you and I to go over to the yard where they're keeping the Brotherhood and I want to talk to them."

"Arya, I really don't think that's a good idea." He said, shaking his head.

"Why not? What do you suggest the two of us just escape together and leave them here? If you mean what you say and my father did have a plan then those men were a part of it and I'm going to just abandon them here."

Gendry nodded, "I'm not saying we should but, Arya they're under constant watch, how do you propose we get to them?"

She sighed, and fixed her boots carefully onto her small feet. "Let me take care of that."

"Arry-" he began, but she cut him off.

"The last conversation I had with my father, he asked me to trust you. He said you would keep me safe and made me promise to trust you when the time came. I'm willing to do that, but are you willing to trust me too?" She asked, her eyes wide and her voice shaky and out of practice.

"Yes." he replied, with little hesitation.

"Okay, then let's go. We've got a Brotherhood to save."

They reached the yard, and the estate seemed quiet, almost dead. Unusual for a land run by Boltons, unusual for anywhere.

As they passed through the doorway to the yard, Gendry saw the bodies of two dead guards stuffed into the shadows.

"Arya, what have you…" She cut him off again.

"Relax it wasn't me."

She ran up to the Brotherhood, beaten, bloody and inches from death, and fed them water and food she'd snagged from the kitchens.

Anguy, opened his eyes though one was too swollen to do much good, "Little Arry, as I live and breathe." He chuckled, immediately breaking into a cough.

"You'll get yourselves in trouble here, go, now." Thoros said, his tone serious and deep.

"We're getting you out." Arya replied, her small fingers playing with the ropes and shackles that kept them bound in place.

"You and what army?" Lem asked dreamily, he was bleeding from a gash in his forehead and seemed to barely even be awake. Brice laid next to him in a crumpled heap, eyes wide open and unblinking.

"Well, I've got the bull," She shrugged, "And him." She motioned over her shoulder to the entryway to the yard where a man stood unflinching next to the two dead bodies. One side of his hair white, the other red.

Worry washed over Gendry once more, a feeling he'd grown accustomed to in his two months at Harrenhal. "What've you done, Arya?"


	20. The Gilded Hand

"I did what I needed to do." Arya explained. Gendry sighed, forgetting that even when Arya did talk she usually gave only half answers.

"No you didn't, did you even think about this before you did it? You didn't even know who was holding this place and now you know it's Ramsay Snow and you still think this is a good idea?"

"Yes." She said, her fingers working tirelessly at the restraints around their friends' wrists.

"How?" Gendry asked, still standing their dumbfounded.

"A girl has realized that there were only two guards watching the men, now is the perfect time to strike with the castle's defences lowered." Jaqen had walked forward silently and now stood next to Gendry.

"There now that you have your answers could you maybe help?" Arya asked, Gendry knelt next to Thoros and began examining the gashes across his chest.

"Strike where? And what is he doing here?" Gendry asked, his head motioning up to the man.

"Helping me." Arya replied.

"I am simply repaying a debt." He answered, as if offering Gendry a new riddle to solve.

Half of the men were tied up with ropes, revealing the true disrepair of Harrenhal, while the others were held in with iron shackles. "I could break these in the forge, but we'd have to sneak them back there."

"That'll take too long," Arya grumbled. "We can't leave in the middle of daylight, we'd be foolish to try it."

"Suppose we keep them there all day?" Gendry offered.

"And risk getting caught?" Arya said, dismissing him immediately.

"Well, I'd come up with a better plan but I've only been at it for a few seconds, mayhaps if you had told me what you were thinking of doing more than two minutes before you did it, I could be of better assistance," He said, his voice a hushed but angry whisper. He almost added a m'lady for good measure but resisted, not believing for a moment that the man next to him with his half coloured hair was trustworthy.

Arya bit her lip and thought for a moment, "We'll sneak the ones who need it over to the Forge and hide them there. Jaqen, can you remove the bodies and stand guard here until we're ready to go?" The man silently acquiesced and began lifting the still shackled men of the Brotherhood up to be moved. "The others will stay here as a decoy, and the rest of us will go about our day like normal."

"And if they ask where the other men went?" Gendry questioned, seeing holes in every detail of her makeshift plan.

"Dead." She answered, her eyes gazing far off into the distance. "The Bloody Mummers are said to be returning tomorrow, we'll leave tonight." She looked to Jaqen who nodded, a secret deal passing between them, and then they led Thoros, Lem and Jack to Forge. Beric also had metal cuffs around his wrist, tight fitting ones too, but the sun was rising and people would be moving around Harrenhal all too soon, and as the leader of the Brotherhood he would be quickly missed. They resolved to break him free before they left, and with that they left the remaining members in a bloody heap and went on with their day.

Gendry broke Thoros free of his shackles in minutes. Aside from leaving them a balm used for burns and cuts in the kitchen, Arya would've been too easily missed in the kitchens and had to return to work.

He hid them in the back of the Forge in the blacksmith's private quarters. Closing the door behind him as they entered his pleasant stare turned to a severe grimace. "Explain."

"While I understand your frustration, your Grace, now might not be the best time." Thoros replied diplomatically as Lem applied the ointment to his bleeding wrists.

"And while I might agree with you, I am still your pr…" He paused, "You're King." His resolve became steely once again. "Explain."

The three men of the Brotherhood exchanged a few looks before Thoros relented, "What would you like to know, your Grace?"

"Who are the Bloody Mummers?"

"Sellswords, hired killers who are apparently working for the Boltons, who to make matters worse were once holding allegiance to the Starks, though I don't think that's information we can trust any longer. They're led by Vargo Hoat, who has a penchant for…"

"Let's say collectibles" Lem added carefully.

"Either way not someone we're letting within ten inches of either you or Arry." Jack finished.

"That's what they wanted you for, huh?" Gendry asked, "I'd hoped it was anything else, maybe some kind of rebellions or news from the North, but they know that Arya and I are missing and they're looking for us."

Lem nodded, "Luckily for us, Cersei's hatred of you has left the kingdom looking for a crippled halting with buck teeth and a bald spot. You oughta thank her for disguising you so well all those years."

"I doubt we'll be speaking again." Gendry muttered under his breath.

"As for Arry, well the girl seems to know how to hide herself quite well."

"For now," Thoros added, "I don't need to remind you that a young girl arrived in King's Landing over a year ago and was supposed to be a wed around this time now. Unsurprisingly, she soon won't resemble that same girl much longer."

"It's just as good she's planned on getting us out tonight. She's in near as much jeopardy, and if she's found you can bet they won't be far off on figuring out who you are too, your Grace." Jack said.

"And how did she plan it?" Gendry questioned.

"Perhaps, your Grace, are you trying to delicately asked who that red haired bastard is?" Lem said candidly. "Because we're not sure either, only that for now he's our ally."

"I just... I know I've seen him before." Gendry said, not sure where to the place the unusual man in his mind. "But I don't trust him." Gendry shook the thought from his head, "I suppose I should get back to work, try and get some sleep."

He returned to work, stoking the fire in the heart of the Forge and picking up the sword he was working on for Ramsay Snow, he'd fashioned just right, and sharp too. And he knew Ramsay was clever enough to know a faulty sword when he saw one, and especially when he used one. Still Gendry was clever too, and he knew how to make the sword more frail than it would appear. He set to work putting the changes in, relishing in the work until the sun rose over the castle's walls.

"You seem determined with that." Arya said watching him as he heated and re shaped the sword. "I thought he just wanted it sharpened to lob your bullish head off faster."

He chuckled for a moment before shooting his head up to look around, "Be careful who you say that around." He looked at the sword for a moment before he began sharpening it. "I suppose I am."

"Aren't there stories about knights being killed with their own swords?" She asked.

Gendry shrugged, "I'm not sure." He sighed, "Honestly, I always could kind of see myself doing this. Not here, or in King's or anything, but there was this one time, Sansa and I were talking about finding a way to keep you in the North, in Winterfell, and I thought what if I could go there too. You could live in Winterfell, I could run the Forge." He shrugged, "Maybe it could've happened in another life."

Arya just stared at him. "Why would you even want that?" she asked, her eyes wide and unblinking.

Gendry just chuckled, "Well, if you don't know by now." He replied, returning to his work. "Shouldn't you get back to the kitchens?"

"Yes..." She replied, still eyeing him warily. Arya was almost out the door when Gendry decided to speak again.

"Who was that man, what's his name, Jaqen?"

"He was going to the Wall, with Yoren." She said, giving him no real explanation.

"How did he escape?"

"I helped him." She replied. "And now he owes me a debt."

"Isn't Yoren going to be looking for him?"

She stared down at the ground, "Yoren's dead. They're all dead." They were silent for a while, both knowing the reason why they had been killed, knowing that it was their own fault.

"We'll leave tonight." Gendry replied. "And we'll find a way to make up for all that's happened."

Arya gritted her teeth together and grimaced. "I know I will." Then she left as silently as she'd entered.

Back on the King's Road, when her throat felt dry and unused and she couldn't stand the sight of Gendry, she'd wandered over to the man in the cage who was being dragged along the road to the Wall.

"A girl does not speak." He said to her, quietly enough that no one would hear.

"I'm not a girl." She muttered.

"A man knows what a girl is. A man can tell." He said cryptically. "And he can see what a girl wants to bring back a man who is no longer alive. That is not something a girl can have. However, a girl can instead... have something else."

"A what is it you think I want?" She asked.

"A girl cannot return to what was but can move forward and... forget." He offered, his hand moved outside the bars of the cage and held a small iron coin out to her, but when she reached for it his hand snapped back behind the bars in an instant.

"What do you want from me?" She asked.

"That man" He said pointing to one of Yoren's men, holds the key to this cell, and sooner or later someone will come looking for these people, for you, when that happens I would like to be prepared to escape. In return, a girl will be owed a debt."

"What kind of debt?"

"By saving a man's life, the Red God will be owed one to replace it."

Arya bit her lower lip and thought this over, looking around the makeshift camp she could see a group of young men heading out in search of water, some of them no older than Rickon would be now, one even had curly reddish hair like him.

"I get you the key, then when trouble comes, you save them too." She said, motioning to the boys.

"That is not how this works." The man began, Arya cut him off.

"Yes, it is."

The man considered it for a moment, and saw the steely reserve in Arya's gray eyes. "Very well, Arya Stark."

When she handed over the key that night, he passed the coin through the bars to her, holding her hand in his for a moment as two words left his lips. "Valar Morghulis."

"Boy, get over here!" Yoren yelled at her, already warning her once that day about talking to the man.

"Valar Morghulis." She repeated foolishly, unaware of any meaning behind the words, except that they were High Valyrian.

She'd only found him a few days ago in Harrenhal, though he claimed to have been there for weeks already. She finally learned his name too, Jaqen H'ghar, and that Yoren's men had been ambushed by gold cloaks about three days after they had left. It made Arya nervous to think that if the Bloody Mummers, a name she'd hear tossed around in the kitchens, hadn't found them, the gold cloaks would've. They'd had too many close calls between here and the Capital and it was still a long way to King's Landing.

He'd saved himself a four of the boys, though he had no clue where they were now, dead or alive, he maintained that she was owed three favours. She'd claimed two as soon as she'd seen the opportunity. Tonight Jaqen would kill whatever guards were left and she, Gendry and the Brotherhood would all but walk out the front gates.

She passed him in the halls of the kitchen as she went upstairs to serve Ramsay Bolton his midday meal. His eyes were as blank a slate as they always were. As if he didn't know her at all. She tried to make her own eyes do that but always felt they betrayed her.

The hall was all but empty where Ramsay Snow ate that day, just him and one of his father's advisors, who related to him the news from around Westerns as it had come in by the raven's wing.

"The Lannisters and the Tyrells are showing a united front in the Capital but a little bird has informed me that there is infighting between the Queen and her new good-daughter."

"Are you boring me with tales of women?" Ramsay asked as Arya placed the tray of food in front of him. He glared at her for a passing moment as she moved to pour him some wine.

"Perhaps this will suit you better," The man continued.

"What news of the Starks?" The bastard lord asked loudly. Arya's hand stayed steady as she poured. She could feel Ramsay's eyes boring into her back.

Still as calm water, she thought to herself, though her arm began to shake. No, that only reminds you of home. Her mind scrambled to find someway to think of anything else, anything other than Jon and Bran and Rickon and her father and her lady mother, and Sansa and Nymeria and Syria Forrel back in the Capital when everyone was still together and al-

"A girl does not speak" Jaqen's voice repeated in her head. "A girl cannot return to what was but can go forward."

Arya finished pouring the wine and took a moment to stare out the window onto the whole of Harrenhal, and the dark gloomy sky that loomed over it. I must be like Jaqen, she thought, not Arya Stark, not Arry, but a girl. I must be a ghost. She felt the storm behind her eyes clear.

She served the wine to Lord Snow as the man announced that Theon Greyjoy had taken Winterfell for his own while Robb Stark had been away fighting for the North.

"Will that be all, m'lord?" She asked quietly.

"One moment," Ramsay instructed. "Go on," He said, turning back to the other man.

"Reports have come in that he has killed the youngest Stark boys, Rickon and Brandon Stark are dead."

Arya didn't flinch, didn't move at all. Didn't breathe. She held her hands behind her back and stared blankly at Ramsay's face, her own eyes meeting his. "Will that be all m'lord?" She repeated, her voice just as cheery, just as empty, as the last time.

"You're dismissed." Ramsay answered, unsatisfied.

She calmly walked down the winding stairs of the tower back to the kitchens.

"Arry?" She heard as she walked down to the dark and damp cellars where they kept stores of salt and Eastern spices and meats for the upcoming winter. "Arry?!" A voice repeated, more concerned as it followed her.

Soon, she collapsed, and as he did, Gendry knelt down next to her.

"Arya," He whispered, the room was empty save for the two of them, and he'd closed the door behind himself, but still he was always careful. "Arya, what happened up there?"

She held her hands out in front of her. Her long and jagged nails had torn into the flesh of her palms and there was blood running slowly down her wrists and forearms. Gendry quickly ripped a strip of cloth from the sleeve of his worn down tunic to wrap around her hands. "What happened?" He repeated.

"Bran and Rickon are dead. Theon killed them, he was like a brother to us, and he killed them." She said the words in confusion because they didn't make sense on her tongue, or to her brain, and out loud they made even less sense.

"What?" Gendry asked. "How do you know this?"

"He made the man read it, right in front of me." She said, "They're gone."

"Arya, he was testing you, he must've been. He suspects you're not what you seem, even after that stunt you pulled yesterday, you can't trust anything he says. He's just looking for a way to expose you." He said, brushing strands of matted hair away from her eyes so as to better see into them.

"What if they're actually dead though?" She asked, Gendry didn't have an answer. "Sansa's in the Capital and Cersei will either control her or kill her, Robb's fighting a war for the North, No one even knows where my mother is! And Jon... he's probably dead too, somewhere on that bloody wall." Tears started rolling down her face. "I've got no family anymore."

Tears fell violently down her cheeks and as they dropped she felt an anger rushing up in her chest. Her fingers reached up and began pulling at her tattered hair, then swiping at the air in front of her, then as she reached around to begin attacking the shelves of preserves around them Gendry grabbed her wrists.

She stopped, her eyes piercingly grey in the limited light of the store room, after a moment's hesitation he let go, and she mounted a blow of her small fist against his toros, then another, then another until soon she was full on sparring with his chest, and crying and growling like a wolf and though it didn't not happen soon she did eventually get tired and then Gendry wrapped his large arms around her and she sobbed into his chest and fidgeted and fought against him and then stopped. He leaned down placing a silent kiss on top of her head. "I've got no family left either, by now" He thought aloud. "But I've got you."

He felt her chest moving up and down slowly against his as she began to calm down. "I could be your family."

They sat there on the cold ground for a while, until her breathing lulled into an almost sleep.

"Are you feeling better?" He asked, the question was ridiculous. Any other time she would have called him stupid, but instead she just answered with a quiet "Yes."

"Perhaps we should get back up there. It's almost dark."

She nodded. Her eyes were no longer red and blotchy, though her nose was still running. He stood and offered a hand to help her up and as she stood she jumped up close to him and wrapped her arms around his strong neck in a hug, "Thank you." She whispered in his ear.

He hated that in a moment like this he could still think about how he loved her and how he would do anything for her, to make it better. He felt her rage as well as his own, he wanted to see people dead, to see them cower, to see them suffer what they'd done to him, and his father, and the Starks, and the countless people who'd already gotten hurt along the way. But more than all of that he just wanted to see Arya Stark safe, and to see her happy. To not let the weight of this whole thing change her more than it already had. He supposed that was more unlikely than him ever finding his way safely back to King's to reclaim his throne. But the throne was the furthest thing from his mind now. Damn it all. Damn them all. He thought it, but he didn't mean it. He would put the whole world back together for both their sakes.

That night once the kitchens were cleared and the Forge was still, the towers were silent save for the lords in their chambers.

Arya tiptoed into the Forge, into the back quarters where the Brotherhood waited.

"So what's the plan?" Lem asked.

"Jaqen will take care of the three guards on watch tonight, then we will simply leave through the front gate." Arya answered.

"Then what?"

"We've got enough supplies to last us four nights on our own, we can steal weapons from the Forge here, but taking horses is risky."

"Not taking them is even more risky, Ramsay's men will only find us sooner if they can outrun us."

"Not if we use the rivers to get to the sea." Arya interjected.

"And then where do you propose we go?" Tom asked.

"East." Arya answered surely, surprising even Gendry. "Or North, or even south to Dorne. We need to get some place quickly, some place they won't look for us immediately. We need a boat."

"While I appreciate what you're saying, m'lady," Anguy said, speaking through a busted lip covered in dried blood. "We're sworn to protect these lands for King Robert."

"These needs outweigh those." Beric said, putting an end to that brief discussion. "We will accompany them where they need to go."

"Speaking of going, we should start to move." Gendry said.

"Jaqen is already taking care of his share." Arya said, hoisting a pack of food onto her back.

"And what's to become of him?" Thoros asked curiously.

Arya shrugged, "Our duty to each other is done."

Thoros and Gendry exchanged a look momentarily before Anguy motioned for them to begin departing from the Forge.

Three men remained at their post at the door. And the Brotherhood waiting expectantly for Jaqen to make his move. Arya's eyes roamed the area carefully, watching and waiting. "They're already dead." She realized. They were positioned to look as if men were still standing guard.

Slowly the group made their way to the front gate. Gendry smiled, feeling the relief that their plan was actually working, until they heard someone from the other side yell,

"Gates open!"

They all stood, unsure of what to do.

"Are you fucking dead?" The voice yelled again. "Open the gates for the Brave Companions!"

Thoros grabbed Arya and pulled her to the shadows with the other members of the Brotherhood, Gendry walked over to the empty guards post and began cranking the handle to open the gates.

Nine horses ran into the open and empty yard of Harrenhal, "The Blood Mummers." Lem whispered in Arya's ear.

Across the open gates she could see Gendry staring back at her, and Jaqen in the shadows just beyond.

"The Bloody Mummers have returned and we bring with us the Kingslayer himself!"

At these words Gender wandered away from his post, his mouth slightly ajar as his eyes fell on his uncle, bruised and bloodied dragged from the back of Vargo Hoat's horse.

"You, go wake Ramsay Snow and tell him we have returned."

Gendry nodded, knowing better than to shoot one more look to his friends. The men moved in towards the hall, leaving Jaime Lannister and another knight lying the dirt at their feet. The storm above them finally cracked open and the rain began to fall. Arya turned back to the men, Jaqen was now at her side.

"You all need to go. They'll notice Gendry and I missing too if you all are gone but if you leave now without us, that might throw of their suspicions."

"That's madness." Jack said shaking his head.

"A girl is right, they have not yet seen her. They would not know she is a part of this plot. Leave now, and we can find a new way out once they send these men out again, this time after you."

"This plan is risky." Thoros warned.

"It will suffice, we don't have time to bicker before they catch us out here for no reason." Beric decided. "Arya return to your room, rise when the rest of the castle does. We'll meet again, the Brotherhood won't stray far from here, even then we can still elude the Bloody Mummers for long enough to survive."

She nodded and for once did as she was told, first saying a thank you to the group then wrapping her arms around Beric in a quick hug. "Go scout the way," Beric commanded his men until only he and Thoros remained. Arya let go and looked up at him in the dark. "You've had a tough road so far, little wolf, and it will doubtfully get easier from here on in. I know it hasn't for me." He added sadly, looking at Thoros.

"I serve the one true god, the Red god. But I also serve this man here, and that has gotten me a fair bit of trouble along the way. Whichever one god you end up choosing to serve, be sure it's one the will serve you in return."

Arya stared at him trying to absorb his words as they walked away.

"Beric," she whispered, "Is it true they've brought you back, that," She gestured to Thoros, "He's brought you back, many times?"

He shook his head, "it is never the same man who comes back, Arya. Just as the you who returns to Winterfell one day, will not be the same you who left."

They disappeared into the night, Jaqen shut the gates behind them, and Arya watched her escape slip through her fingers.

She walked further into the yard, people were already coming down from their chambers, and the servants from their small quarters and their few hours sleep. "What's happenin'?" One of the serving girl's asked Arya.

"The Brave Companions are back, and they've found some new captives."

Across the din of the slow forming crowd Arya saw Gendry walking back into the yard, his eyes wandered from the Mummers, to Jaime Lannister, to her. She looked over to the closed gate, trying to convey to him all that had happened when he was gone.

"Who's that other one?" She heard someone behind her ask.

"That tall blonde thing?" They answered. "That's Brienne of Tarth. She's a fucking big woman."

"She's a knight?" Arya asked turning around, the two men who'd been talking glared at her. "I mean... a woman knight?" She asked, trying to hide her curiosity as disgust.

The men believed her act and scoffed, "Rich bitch thinks she can be whatever she fucking pleases. Look where it got her."

Ramsay Snow and his men walked down into the yard and a hush fell over the crowd.

"Well, well, well, looks like we've caught ourselves a Kingslayer!" He said, ushering in a cheer from the crowd. He spoke a few words quietly with Vargo Hoat, before grimacing back out at the crowd. "You can all go back to your business now." He yelled, the cheery tone still present in his voice though his eyes were black and vile.

The crowd dispersed but the Blood Mummers remained. Gendry went back to the Forge and in the chaos of people running about she managed to slip in behind him unnoticed.

"What are they going to do to him?"

"I don't know." Gendry said, staring out the window carefully, Arya remained hidden underneath the sill, starting up at Gendry's face trying to gauge what was happening by the look on his face.

"The Brotherhood is gone?" He whispered.

"Yes, it was their only chance to get free." Arya replied.

"And to remove any suspicion from us." Gendry nodded, "That was good of them."

"It was my idea." Arya shrugged.

"Oh seven fucking hells." Gendry groaned. Outside Arya could hear the sounds of men taking punches and kicks against the Kingslayer's armorless body. "Don't suppose there's a way we can escape with them."

"Gendry, are you mad?!" She asked, shocked by his question.

"He's my uncle." He replied.

"No, Gendry, he's not." She said. It was a harsh truth, but she told it. She had to admit a small part of her felt hurt by it, after only hours ago they had promised to be each other's family and now he was getting some of his back.

"I know, but he was always decent to me, more than decent sometimes. And he knew, the whole time he knew, that Cersei hated me, that I was keeping his true nephews from the throne, and still he didn't make my life hell."

"You were the crowned prince, he couldn't."

"We can't leave him here."

"Fine." Arya said, standing up from her crouched position and pacing around the Forge. "What about the other one?"

"Brienne, I'm actually surprised you haven't met her. You'd like her. And she's a fine swordsman, er, woman... she's an asset for us to have on our side. And Jaime is too, trust me, he's the best swordsman in all of Wester-"

Gendry's words were cut off as a bone chilling scream echoed into the Forge from the yard. Arya's hands slammed against her ears and Gendry ran to her, grabbing her into his arms and pulling her down. A fight must've broken out, or someone must've attacked.

After a few moments he let go and stood.

"What was that?" Arya asked as Gendry walked slowly back towards the window.

Gendry looked into the yard and found Vargo Hoat holding Jaime's sword in his hand, covered in blood. Jaime writhed in pain on the muddy ground, clutching his right arm into his stomach, still screaming like mad.

The Bloody Mummers laughed as something rolled away into the yard.

"Collectibles." Gendry whispered.

"What?" Arya asked in a whispered hiss. She crawled back over to him, "What is it Gendry? What's happening?" He didn't respond. "Fuck this." She stood and took a moment to take in the scene. Her eyes scanned the yard, from the men cackling, to Ramsay Snow's evil smile, to Jaime Lannister passed out from the pain, to Brienne of Tarth's horrified face. To Jaime Lannister's prized fighting hand rolling away into the muddy earth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you can thank Samfordgal for today's chapter dump. I post this story on two sites and didn't realize that I'd left the last three chapters off of this one. Also I'm going to thank Samfordgal because I had a half-finished chapter saved on the other site that was about expire and I actually got to save it literally in the nick of time thanks to them, so there's another one heading your way, though I'm not gonna promise it will be anytime soon because it's that special, busy time of year.
> 
> Thanks to everyone for the continued interest and support for this story! It's really the best feeling to see people still wanting more despite the lack of posting <3


	21. Always Gold

Weeks passed. No one saw Brienne of Tarth, Jaime Lannister lay in the styes alone, his hand green and putrid, hanging from a rope around his neck, and Ramsay Snow was moving throughout Harrenhal with the determination and anger of a harsh winter storm. It seemed bringing in Jaime Lannister as a captive didn't quite outweigh the immediate realization that the Brotherhood had slipped through his grasp. His men didn't see it the same way. They celebrated, drinking wine and making the kitchen girls fearful. So Ramsay unsheathed one of his men's swords and rammed it through a girl's belly, promising the next man to utter a joyful phrase would find his sword poking out through his neck.

One thing did seem to bring Ramsay Snow a sick satisfaction: there was to be a hunting party. He unleashed his dogs and set out into the forests with his best men by his side. This was partially advantageous: it left the hall undefended. And without Ramsay in charge, work slowed to a more docile pace. Arya spent more time wandering the old tourney hall, more time tiptoeing through the corners and cracks of the castle, more time alone, silent and unnoticed. It struck her then, why Harrenhal was so unloved. It was the biggest castle in all of Westeros, it was wild, unruly, and impossible to keep a firm grip on. It could never be defended, nor maintained, in all areas at all hours of the day. It required an innumerable chain of guards and servants, cooks and keepers. And so it fell to disarray. It was ignored and mismanaged, it was cast off by it's owners, it was the most human place she'd ever seen.

She felt a strange sort of kinship with the hall, she could pass through any hall and feel as though she stepped where a member of her family might have stepped. Though the impossibility was grand, it was the first time in a while she felt hope, she felt certainty, she felt undeniable. This was something that couldn't be taken away from her, not like Needle, not like her family which had been ripped from her hands and scattered throughout the Seven Kingdoms, not like her faith in anything she'd ever been taught to believe. This was a memory passed down through time, and that could not be taken from her.

From that day on Arya was at peace with Harrenhal, though not with the people inside of it. But she was one with the walls, she could move about without being seen or heard, and it was a freedom she truly loved. She was the last Stark, this much she could only assume, and already, she was a ghost. But she was free.

* * *

 

Gendry worked, and then he worked some more, and then continued to work. And only once was the sun had set on Harrenhal did he pause. He'd waited four days and four nights, but now, he went off to visit his uncle where he lay half-dead in the sty. He began by simply observing from the shadows, there was no one around but being cautious had become first nature to Gendry. Keeping his head down and doing his work without comment or complaint was what had kept him alive, he was sure, but for the last bit of family he felt he had left, for the answers Jaime Lannister could give him, he was willing to risk that.

"You're being foolish," Arya said. Ever since Ramsay's departure she'd taken to sleeping in the Forge, or rather keeping him awake at night, imagining their escape as Gendry tried to sleep.

"Mayhaps," He said, taking some of the food he'd hidden away that day, saving for Jaime. "But we all have our ways of being foolish." He looked up at her pointedly.

"Me?" She asked. Gendry nodded, "And what have I done that's so foolish?"

Gendry looked at her, "You've grown." He wanted to say, but it wasn't simply that. Sure her hair was growing faster, shaping her face, making her look all the more feminine, but there was something else about her now, a confidence that hadn't been there before. As if in the absence of Bolton's Bastard, she'd taken over running the hall. It was ludicrous and dangerous, but it was also a good look on her. "You're overstepping your bounds, you think I don't hear people whispering about the Ghost of Harrenhal, hmm? That's you Arya, that's you skulking around the place, being careless and drawing attention to yourself when you should be working. You're asking for trouble."

She argued back. "Has anyone seen me? Has anyone mentioned me by name? No. So I think I'm doing just fine." Gendry let the subject drop. You can't tame a wolf.

Gendry packed a few more things for his once uncle, some medicine to keep the wound from getting infected. Then he prepared to set off, waiting for one last comment from Arya as he stood in the doorway of the Forge.

"Are you going off to be stupid now?" She asked. He nodded. She sat perched on the anvil, her feet kicking underneath her. After a moment of contemplation, she jumped up. "Fine, then I guess I'll go be stupid with you."

He was surprised to find the she followed him.

When he walked through the grounds into the darkly lit pig sty, he found his uncle in a desperate state. Kneeling down next to the man, who was covered in sweat and delirious from the pain and the shock.

"Uncle Jaime." He said, grabbing the shoulder of his good arm and shaking it. He felt a tap on his shoulder and received a glare from Arya. "Jaime." 

The man's eyes fluttered open hesitantly and closed once more. 

Arya who'd previously been behind him, standing in the shadows, stepped forward and swiftly kicked the bleeding stump where his hand once was. 

Jaime screamed in his sleep, his eyes still closed. Gendry jumped forward, his hand covering Jaime's mouth and stifling his voice. 

"Uncle Jaime, please you need to be quiet, we're here to help you." Gendry pleaded, looking to Arya to start treating his wounds while they talked. Wordlessly, she did so, though she did not seem happy about it at all. 

"So you made it out..." Jaime mumbled, finally he seemed to have recognized who was talking, and his eyes went over to Arya slowly, "And you brought the Stark girl with you." 

"How did you get here?" Gendry asked. 

Jaime hissed in pain as Arya tended to his arm, in a way that was far from gingerly. "Catelyn Stark sent me South with that mountainous woman from Tarth, to trade me for the King in the North's sisters." He looked at Arya, "Guess he would've been disappointed." 

Gendry looked at Arya too, finding no reaction in her eyes at the realization that her brother was trying to get her back to the North. It seemed that at the very least, all their efforts to hide Arya had worked. The girl just kept her eyes on her task. 

 "I always knew..." Jaime said, his eyes and mind delirious from pain, "I knew and I helped her cover it up, but she wanted more, she wanted her children on the throne,  _our_ children. I kept her sated as long as I could."

"This was always her plan." Gendry said shaking his head.

"No," Jaime said, "I fear it was much worse."

With that Arya stormed off, taking the medicine for Jaime's wrist with her. Her meager job would have to, as Ramsay waking up to inspect his victim and finding him bandaged and cared for would only worsen Jaime's troubles, and in that way, their own.  

"She'll never be the same." Jaime warned, noticing Arya's absence perhaps through the pain that had died down in his arm. 

"None of us will," Gendry noted, a sombre moment he couldn't allow to continue, "We need to get out of here. All of us."

"I will only slow you down." Jaime intoned, his head rolling back. As his hair fell back it reeled the glassy look in his eye.

"Yes." Gendry nodded, "But you were always decent to me. You didn't forsake me, I will do the same for you."  

"Decency... does not make us allies." He commented. 

"Well, then" He looked around a moment, Arya's cautions present in his mind, "Then as your king. You will keep going until I tell you otherwise." 

"And where do you propose we go?" 

Gendry hesitated, any plans had halted in his mind since he'd first seen Jaime's hand rolling through the grounds of Harrenhal. "We will get North, to Starks' land, they are our allies." 

"The Starks are weakened." 

"We're  _all_ weakened, Jaime." He said, his voice gaining a timbre at the disillusionment of both Arya and his uncle. "We will go North, to Winterfell, to find our allies, and we will keep going North to collect them. House Mormont, House Reed, the men of the Watch, all Stark allies." He struggled to think of more house names and banners, to remember his lessons, to find the few he could count on once he overcame the obstacle of getting out of this hell hole. "The Brotherhood are mine. It's not much but it's better than anything else I can devise." 

"The North is falling apart as fast as it's freezing over." 

"I don't have a plan." Gendry said, far louder than he should. His temper, a constant reminder of how much of his father was hidden within himself, often threatened him with trouble. "I have her." He said, motioning to the direction in which Arya had disappeared, his arm continued to wave aimlessly behind him as he spoke, as if Arya was everywhere, all around him. "And I have to get her somewhere safe." 

"Because you love her." Jaime said, a defeated laugh on his lips. Mocking Gendry and himself. 

"Because even when she refuses to speak to me, or acknowledge my damn existence, she is still the best ally I will ever have." 

Gendry shook his head, finding no solace in talking to his uncle, the man was destroyed almost entirely. He placed the food he'd gathered for him within his reach and stood.  

"We will leave tomorrow night, you will come with us, it can be as my ally or..." He paused, "Or as my prisoner for crimes against the rightful King of the Iron Throne, and the House Baratheon. Try and keep yourself together until then." 

"I can't fight," Jaime reminded him as the walked away, "The Kingslayer is gone." He waved his stump of a hand for a moment, the missing weight sending it back down to his lap a moment later.

Gendry considered that statement for a moment. "Good, I don't fucking need a Kingslayer." 

"What else of me is there?" 

"You'll have to find out." 

* * *

 

When he returned to the Forge, Arya was there, waiting. And for once, he felt like he knew what needed to be said. 

"This is the worse way it could've gone." He said, "Jaime was wrong about so much, but about that most of all. There is no version of this worse than your father not being alive. He was a great man who will be missed." She sat, perched as alway on the anvil, her feet now closer to the ground than they once were. He came to her and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "If I could change it, if I could make some kind of deal like you did with Jaqen, I would bring him back to you, I would trade places with him if I could, and-" 

"No." she mumbled against his chest. 

He pulled away, "What?" 

"No, I... I would do anything, give anything, I would  _be_ anything to get him back. Gods, Gendry there is so much I would do." She sighed, "But it would've been worse, to have lost him and have not had you here with me too. To lose you too..." As if unable to finish the thought, she just shrugged. 

It felt treasonous to think it in her mind, that to not have Gendry here with her could even be compared to the loss of her father. But the image penetrated her mind ceaselessly. To have him murdered too in King's Landing, not executed but hidden away somewhere with those dragon bones in the hidden barracks of the the Red Keep, it was a thought she couldn't stand to keep in her mind, and she had to get it out. 

"I haven't been nice, or fair, or anything to you-" 

"You've been grieving," Gendry said, making excuses for her. 

"It wasn't your fault. And I treated you like it was." She knew very much whose fault it was now, and would remember that person forever, but for this moment, she would atone. "I'm sorry for that." 

"I've never needed your apology," He actual managed a laugh, "I always knew you'd be hard to handle, I never cared. Whether times were good, or bad, or unimaginably terrible. I've never wanted to shy away from that, or beat that impulse out of you." He stepped back close to her again. 

 

She rose on the anvil, sitting on her knees so that they were the same height, finally face to face. It felt like it had been too long since he'd seen her eyes. "I don't know how many Starks are left, I keep telling myself I can feel them alive still, in here," Her hand rested on her abdomen, "And that when they die it'll feel like it did when... it'll feel like a piece of me disappears. But maybe I can't feel that, or anything-" 

"You're not br-" 

She cut him off, "You're my best ally too. Even when you're a stubborn, emotional bull." 

She'd been listening. She reached down and took his hand in both of hers. 

"My father, he told me you'd always take care of me."

"I will." 

"That I could trust you." 

"You can."

"And Sansa, that night we found you in the godswood, she told me you two were going to keep me in the North, that you wanted me to be happy." 

"I do." 

"And you still thinks that possible? To be happy?" 

"Yes." 

"I'll take care of you too." She said softly, 

"You will?" He asked, wanting to hear it again. 

"I will." She nodded, "And you can trust me. And I want you to be happy too." 

He smiled, lifting a hand to cup her cheek, but deciding against it, he joined with their other hands, which were placed gently over top of each other, equal distance between their two bodies. 

Gendry wasn't sure what to do next, either to close the space between their bodies, or to get them out of this place. Arya solved the first problem for him. 

Her fingers gripped his palms tightly, and he could feel a thin layer of sweat building on her hands. Though that could be from the roaring forge fire behind her, he felt it had a different motivation. 

"Arry," He warned, trying to convince himself that she didn't even know what she was doing, intertwining their hands, saying these kinds of words, biting her lip like that and looking at him the way she was. 

He'd seen so many shades of emotion from her the past months, her pure rage, her emptiness, her sadness and frustration. The look received now was none of those, it was determination, and comfort. 

"We might be all each other has anymore." She said, a tone of sadness still underscored her words, at the implication that they might be the last Stark and the last Baratheon by this point. The implication that she trusted none of Jaime's words, whether they be outdated or straight lies. "And if that's true, I'm glad it's with you." 

"They're out there Arry, you might not believe that you can feel them, but I do. They're out there and we'll find them together, and we'll make things right." 

She nodded, "Together." 

"Together." He repeated again. 

She inched forward on the anvil, her knees teetering over the edge, and he stepped closer to make things easier for her. 

For all her towardness, and her brash actions and impulsiveness, she chose this moment to become shy. He stopped himself from smiling at the idea, knowing it would only embarrass her and scare her away. The though occurred to him then that this, he was absolutely sure, would be her first kiss, if she so chose it to be. At least he hoped it was, a selfish hope really. Though he didn't love that it would happen in Harrenhal, he knew it was something she had to do, nothing like their time in the Keep, him taking her hands, kissing her cheeks, giving her an angry blush. For this, she needed to decide for herself. She needed to want it. 

She came so close, he could feel her shallow breath against the stubble on his chin. Then, changing her mind suddenly, her lips landed on his cheek, the corner of her lips touching the corner of his. She paused herself there for a minute and Gendry didn't think he'd be able to breathe for risk that she would flee.

Her breath shook as she pulled away slightly, from excitement or nerves, she couldn't tell which of the two ruled the combination. Arya couldn't define what had come over her except for the resounding feeling that had first struck her days ago in the storeroom, that he could be her family. She wasn't even sure if she'd said it or him, she'd been thinking it one moment and suddenly the words were in the air between them. 

There was the feeling of comfort, of his body next to hers as they slept in the Forge. A feeling she'd enjoyed, then missed, then sought out, maybe even craved? A feeling developed over months on the King's Road, though she hadn't recognized it until right now, at her most desperate moment, when she didn't feel lost at all. 

She pressed her lips to his. A moment of regret washed over her for every time she'd ignore Sansa stories about princes and knights kissing ladies, and for all the knowledge she had about fighting that taught her nothing about what to do when she wanted to quell this feeling in the pit of her stomach. A feeling of wanting to hold and be held and be tender. She wasn't tender, she was Arya Underfoot. 

Gendry's hands parted from her own and for a foolish moment she thought he might push her away, but his hand rose to cup her cheek, and hers remained limp between them. This wasn't Water Dancing. 

Instinct overtook her as her hands reached to either side of his toros, which Gendry took smartly as confirmation to deepen the kiss, his lips opening slightly as his hands wound into her growing hair. 

She worked in opposition of him, her arms rising up to wrap around his neck as his moved around her waist, perhaps this was a bit like Water Dancing after all. He lifted her off the anvil and let her feet fall to the ground. 

When their lips parts, Arya kept her eyes closed, and Gendry stared down at her, she looked bashful, and happy. He was a good look on her. 

"We should get some sleep." He said, "Tomorrow, we're getting out of here." 

She nodded, too stunned, and tired, and content to bother pretending to fight him. 

They wrapped up together on his small feather bed in the back, Arya's back pressed against his chest, safe and sound with his arm gently pulling her close to him. A feeling in the pits of both their stomachs, that despite every terrible circumstance surrounding them, this above all else was right. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, thanks for somehow still finding, liking, and reviewing this story as it is literally the influx of emails that has brought me back to add on after more than a year. You guys rock! I'm planning to update again soon, but first to go through and revise the old chapters to clean the piece up a bit. As well I'm planning another Modern AU for Gendry x Arya so look forward to that as well!


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